


A Dusty Book of Fables

by roraruu



Series: A Forgotten Collection of Fables [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Implied Relationships, Multi, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, there's way too much here to unpack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 26,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22502350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roraruu/pseuds/roraruu
Summary: A small collection of fairy tales, legends, myths and stories from the Adrestian Empire, the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and the Leicester Alliance. (Updates on Fridays)
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert & Marianne von Edmund, Cyril/Lysithea von Ordelia, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Mercedes von Martritz, Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault, Glenn Fraldarius/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester & Claude von Riegan, Petra Macneary/Bernadetta von Varley, Raphael Kirsten/Bernadetta von Varley
Series: A Forgotten Collection of Fables [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659070
Comments: 32
Kudos: 81





	1. Strength and Loyalty, Adrestia

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in a complete haze at the end of december in like 3 days while listening to abba n i still feel the lack of control in my life as i did that day. this collection will be updated when i have the time but as of rn it is complete and you can nab the full thing as a pdf on my fic blog (roraruu.tumblr.com). there's a few stories behind a couple revisions like with the netteflix one but i'll share them as they're published.  
> also this first one is for a friend, taz, bc she got me into edelbert and i cant unsee them as snow white and the huntsman. enjoy.  
> also i still havent played anything but azure moon im sorry if theres any inaccuracies but idgaf
> 
> update, may 24/2020:  
> holy shit https://hiimtaz.tumblr.com/post/619035438744764416/edelbert-week-day-6-au-day-gently-he-raised  
> pls give taz the love she deserves she’s a goddess wtf

Once upon a time in the warm lands of Adrestia, there was a beautiful Empress who was beloved by her people. She was admired for her beauty and her kind, but strong-willed heart. However, Adrestia was a land of many sorrows; her husband, the Emperor, faced insurgents and interference from the other noble houses, removing much of his power until the royal house Hresvelg faced insurrection itself. 

For her and the future scion’s safety, the Empress’s brother, Arundel, insisted upon her moving to the neighbouring kingdom of Faerghus for a period of time. Spending most of her days hidden in the kingdom castle for her protection, the Empress took to sewing. She laid in expectance for her future child and whiled away her time working her needle and thread into clothes. As she sewed a black gown of the finest silk, she pricked herself with the needle. While staring at the dripping blood from her finger, the Empress wished for three things for her child:  
“Oh Seiros. I wish that I had a daughter with skin as white as snow,  
hair as dark as the seas below,  
and for her lips to be as red as blood.  
If she bore those three gifts, I would give her all I could.”

Shortly after saying her prayer, the Empress gave birth to her daughter, and was delighted that she had not only ivory skin, a hale red face and a few strands of dark hair. The Empress proudly welcomed her daughter and thanked Saint Seiros. 

However, on the blessed day that the scion was born, the Emperor lost all his power to Adrestia, becoming nothing more than a puppet. In anguish, the Empress fell weaker and weaker as she gazed at her daughter. With her dying breath she spoke to the child, blessing her with a name.

“Sweet child, your Mother is dying, something that cannot be ward;

You will be our noble protector, our dear Edelgard.” 

The scion eventually returned to Adrestia with her uncle, Lord Arundel. He claimed the Empress’s dying wish was that he become her guardian, which the Emperor and royal court scarcely believed. However, there was no proof to say that the Empress’s wishes were the opposite; and his word was taken as truth. Arundel quickly set into a very comfortable life, which he became accustomed to. The only belongings of the Empress’s that returned to Adrestia were an enchanted mirror and one of the many clothes that she had spent hours stitching: a dress as dark as the starless sky. Arundel confiscated the mirror for his own uses and left the dress for Edelgard for when she grew up.

The enchanted mirror held many gifts, the greatest being foresight. The mirror responded with images across the land, pasts from before and fates that had yet to come. Taken with the mirror’s powers, each day Arundel would ask the same question:

“Magic mirror in my hand, who is the strongest in all the land?” 

And each day, the mirror would say, “Unrivalled by anyone; Arundel is, second to none.”

As Edelgard grew up, she became a beauty only rivaled by her departed mother, and she inherited her 

ancestor, Seiros, grace and strength. Her hair had strangely turned white as snow, and her lips had become as red as roses; and out of mourning and love for her mother, she wore the black dress she’d sewn. On her 21st birthday, Arundel asked the mirror the same question, and it answered back: 

“Arundel, tides have changed,   
Edelgard is the strongest in range.”

In an angered fit, Arundel approached Count Vestra’s eldest son, Hubert, who was a servant to the imperial house. In the dark depths of their deathly house, Arundel held out a dagger with a locked box and gave the boy grievous orders:

“Take this dagger and plunge it into the scion’s heart;   
make it look as it has been done on a lark.  
Wait for her in the depths of the forest   
and bring me back her heart of rust.”

The young Hubert, whose family had assisted in many cruel deeds for the family of Hresvelg since their reign, was in no position to turn his back on any royal decree. He took the dagger and prepared for fate. Arundel lured Edelgard out into the forests behind the royal palace.

Deep into the bowers and briers, Hubert waited for her. As footprints moved through the dirt and Hubert could hear the calls of a panicked princess, he patiently waited for his prey. But when Edelgard stumbled upon on his hiding spot near a thicket of rose briers, Hubert found he could not fulfill his duties. He was met with a beauty unparalleled, the searing vision of the long-dead Empress’s wishes: long white hair, rose-red lips and a dress as black as night. Hubert lowered the dagger, dropping it into the rose bushes.

And Edelgard, undeterred, only spoke with stern determination. Her voice alone was enough to bring Hubert to his knees. “Vestra, do you intend to kill me?”

“No, please hear my plea.” 

“Speak.”

“Arundel sent me to kill you. He wished to hear death’s shriek.”

“Why?”

“He envies your strength, and wishes to be sly.”

Edelgard paused, turning her gaze back to him. Slowly, she spoke, “Vestra, will you give me safety and shelter?” 

“My lady, I will give you anything you desire.”

“I desire thorns through his heart, like these briers.” Edelgard had said simply. And when Hubert told her must bring back her heart in the box, Edelgard stole the heart of a black eagle. With great aim and a precise eye, she shot down the bird and carved out it’s heart, placing it in the box.

In return, Hubert offered Edelgard shelter in his family’s summer manor while they plotted to take revenge on Arundel. When he discovered that Hubert had failed, Arundel sent out an assassin to find Edelgard. Hubert, who still had sworn fealty the royal family, left Edelgard alone most days and returned to her in the evenings, where they would plan for revenge. 

Arundel sent two witches, each one selling a different item: the first sold black corsets and dress and was told to wind them tight enough to make Edelgard faint; the second sold a cursed comb that would lay her into a long slumber. Edelgard, however, was prudent and refused every seller that came to manor door. However, Arundel sent one last witch, disguised as a poor farmer’s wife, with a pot of bergamot tea.

Ever her favourite, Edelgard could not resist the tea and took a cup. Little did she know, the tea had been laced with a sleeping potion, enough for the victim to become comatose. When the tea touched her tongue, she fell into deep slumber, deep enough to feign death. When the witch reported back to Arundel, he asked the mirror once again: “Magic mirror in my hand, who’s the strongest in the land?”

“Unrivalled by anyone; Arundel is second to none.” It cried out. Arundel rejoiced before approaching the Emperor to relay the death of his only child.

As night fell, Hubert returned to the manor and found Edelgard collapsed. And when he found the shattered remains of her tea cup and realized what she had drank, he knew the cure: a kiss of true love. Gently, he raised Edelgard’s lips to his and kissed her, breaking the slumber.

Immediately after she woke, Edelgard demanded to be put into a glass casket and to be on display in death. Hubert almost refused until Edelgard took his face in her hands and pleaded: 

“Vestra, trust me, please,  
lay your faith in me, my dour devotee.” 

Both smitten and indebted, Hubert agreed and Edelgard layered him with other instructions. Dutifully, he followed every direction. In short days, nobles and common folk alike came to mourn the late princess. Arundel caught wind of the mourners leading to the Vestras summer manor and followed in close and quick pursuit. Many Adrestians commented that Edelgard’s beauty was only perfected in death. She wore a dress as dark as the winter sky and held an ornate dagger in her hands. When Arundel wished to be alone with Edelgard’s body, he whispered to her deaf ears:

“Dear child, you may have won the battles,   
but I am not so easily addled.  
Enjoy death dear Edelgard,   
your deck was short a card.”

Both stronger and more resolute, Edelgard rose from her glass casket and plunged the dagger into Arundel’s heart. As he lay dying, Edelgard proclaimed the following,   
“Wretched as you may be,   
I do not hate, only pity thee.”

After his death, Arundel was exposed as not only a conspirator of the insurgence against the Emperor, but also a schemer to poison the late Empress. After besmirching his name, Edelgard ascended the throne and became Adrestia’s next Emperor. Ever by her side was Hubert, who became her consort and close companion. Throughout history, Edelgard and Hubert’s story was told as the gifts of strength and loyalty.


	2. The Curse, Faerghus and Leicester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reinterpretation of Alfred Tennyson's 'The Lady of Shallot' with Ashe and Marianne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy friday! got inspired by the painting by john william waterhouse also i read their supports right before writing this so yeah... also sorry but im not writing in full ass poetry coming up with rhymes was hard enough. enjoy!

From the day of her birth, Marianne had been cursed. Her dark gaze, shattering like winter ice, had been the culprit of her mother’s demise and her father’s madness. Following their untimely deaths, she had been adopted by Margrave Edmund, a distant relative of hers. Fearful of her curse, the Margrave locked Marianne in a far off room of his manor for years.

Marianne became a devout and dour soul. For many long days and nights, she prayed for an end to her curse and attempted to fulfill it many times until she was sent a message by the Goddess Sothis. Gently, in the dark of her room, she spoke to Marianne:  
“Child of the curse, do not wish for the end:  
Weave images of Fódlan with this loom that I lend.  
Carry out duties, seeing the truth  
But never gaze upon the world, o cursed youth.”

Bestowed upon her was a great loom with thousands of shades and colours of thread, as well as mirror. The Goddess instructed the girl to use the mirror to see past her curse and unto a brighter day. But what Sothis had not interpreted was Marianne using this mirror to see the outside world, which Margrave Edmund had forbidden.

Having realized that Marianne’s curse was stronger than that of other Crest-bearing children, the vile Margrave decided to move her to an isolated island along the west of Leicester, where it bordered on Faerghus. He sealed her away on a small island, in a tower that dared not to be climbed. Protecting the tower was a beast as dark as night and vicious as all of Fódlan’s evil creatures. The tower itself was surrounded by many layers of poisonous ivy and briers, enough to hurt anyone who snuck past the beast. The only person who could pass by this tower and reach Marianne was Margrave Edmund. To ensure her seclusion, Margrave Edmund had spread many rumours that a ghost lived in the tower, that it was dangerous and haunted. The townsfolk believed it, although, they heard the singing of hymns come from the tower every few nights.

So close to freedom, so close to other people, yet Marianne was not deterred. She obeyed Margrave Edmund’s orders to not leave the tower and not gaze upon the outside world, as well as the Goddess’s revelation to weave images upon her loom. Clever as she was, Marianne positioned the mirror beside her loom, and looked upon it to weave beautiful images of the changing landscape. During the Great Tree moon, she plucked up threads to make thousands of small trees in pine, evergreen and verdant. Along the Harpstring moon, she would create the images of beautiful girls—whose faces she could not see—tickling the strings of a harp. Under the Red Wolf moon, she wove images of the wolves scattering about the land, their back as red as clay and ochre; and under the Ethereal moon, with it’s bright moonlight illuminating her loom, she moulded the night sky and it’s million stars in shades of indigo, cerulean, nightshade and bone.

Every so often, Margrave Edmund would visit her, only to take her tapestries and sell them for gold. He never allowed her to gaze upon them, fearful of her curse killing him like it did to her family.

After the Margrave had taken her last tapestry—the splitting image of the Goddess, Seiros and her four saints—and sold it along with her loom, Marianne sat at her mirror and gazed upon the outside life of Fódlan. She cried for many hours, lost for any other way to bide her time, save for sleep or prayer. When her tears ran dry, she began to sing old hymns of the Goddess, the Elites and her saints.

The howling beast below her tower broke her thoughts. Worried for the creature—no matter how terrifying or fearsome—Marianne fled to the balcony of her tower. She gazed down at the beast, who stood on guard as a Faerghus knight passed on horseback through the muddy waters along her tower.  


And as her eyes caught the knight who’d tamed the beast, the mirror shattered loudly, startling Marianne.

He was the true resemblance of knighthood: a bow on his back, and soft but stern gaze. He commanded his horse with such kindness and gazed upon the beast unfettered. Marianne hid below the balcony, watching as the dutiful knight offered a provision to the beast. Taken with it, the beast fled. 

He gazed upon the tower and called out:

“I come from Faerghus, the land of the blue lions.  
My name is Sir Ashe, a knight of ambition.  
I’ve heard the voice of a ghost here, please make it known  
Your presence frightens the townspeople, please! Make your good intentions shown.”

Marianne glimpsed through the broken cobblestone of the balcony and looked at the knight. He was handsome and kind, but just as any knight she had read in her small library of her youth. Not able to use her voice, Marianne kept silent watching as Ashe mounted his horse once again. He gave one final look towards her tower, and Marianne turned her gaze back to the shards of her mirror. 

Marianne’s chest was a light with fire, burning from her heart through her body. Her Crest and it’s curse, began it’s dastardly work. Soon enough, it would kill the poor knight. But Marianne was tired of living in her tower and obeying the Margrave’s orders. With all her strength and power, she scaled down the tower, waded through the rose briers that tore at her skin and plucked a few for strength and beauty.

With her kind and gentle voice, she calmed the beast that waited at the bottom of her tower. Quickly, she waded across the water. At the edge of the island, she found a boat that Margrave Edmund used to reach her. She secured it, and with red clay from the river’s depths, wrote her name on the stern of the boat. Determination and hope blazed in her heart, despite her dying body; for love for the knight grew and consumed her whole.

As she glided down the waters that connected Leicester to Faerghus, Marianne sung the same ghastly hymns and songs that brought Ashe to her. But weakened from her journey and the curse taking effect, Marianne died as she reached western Faerghus. 

However, Ashe had heard her voice carried along the cold waters and caught a glimpse of her gliding along the waters. 

“Lovely is she,  
My heart won’t let her be.” He spoke to himself before hurrying to the docks. 

Lords, ladies, dames, knights and common folk alike had also heard Marianne’s hymns. They gathered on the banks to see her boat dock on the shores of Blaiddyd, ready to greet the beautiful lady whose voice enchanted them all. But when her boat crashed against the shore, her face was pale and her hands were bloodied, she drew no more breath and stared lifelessly at the sky. Below the stern, they read her name: Marianne, the Lady of Edmund.

They had all crossed their hearts, prayed to the Goddess for her beautiful face and lovely soul to join her, and peered in curiosity at the parchment buried in the bloody roses upon her boat. In script it read:  
_ My tapestries have ripped and these roses have withered,  
_ _ And these charms, Crest and curse left many bewildered.  
_ _ Draw close and judge, un-stunned:  
_ __ for it is I, the Lady of Edmund.


	3. Patience, Faerghus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette travels to the Underworld and withstands tests of patience with her songs in order to save her husband, Felix. A retelling (and reversal) of the legend of Orpheus and Eurydice by Ovid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentines, i swear to god i didnt plan for a sad one on the day of lovin ur friends fam n s/o

Baron Dominic’s only child, Annette, was blessed with many gifts. The first was a penchant for magic, the next, a Crest that amplified those powers, and finally, a voice softer than the flakes of snow in the cold winters and sweeter than honey in spring. Because of all her gifts, she expected many good things, all quite quickly. And for many a year, she was sought after by suitors wishing to tame her voice and make her into a songbird. However, Annette resisted, waiting for only one who could match her song and please her. Night and day, she would sing the same song in the frosted gardens of her manor, waiting for a satisfactory response.  
“Lady of night, lord of day  
Long have I been chased for a wedding day  
Heart o’ mine, wild as the wind,  
Never more any kind.  
Like the daylily, blooming for short hours,  
Picked and withered will I become like a flower.”  


Day by day, knights, bards, lumberers and commoners would wait by the stone walls of the manor to hear Annette sing. Every response she received, she turned away. That is, until the Great Tree moon finally took to the sky in her 21st year. Her song attracted the finest swordsman of Faerghus, Felix of Fraldarius. He scaled the wall of her manor and listened to her song. 

For many days and nights, he simply listened to her sing. Slowly, she began to enjoy his company, and under the full light of the moon, he attempted a response. To her ballad he sang:  
“Lord of day, lady of night  
Long have I given all those around me a fright.  
Heart o’ mine, guarded as a shield,  
Has never known a love to leave me so reeled.  
Like the golden hour once every day   
I hope that this feeling will never fade.”  


Struck instantly by Cupid’s arrow, Annette fell in love with Felix, as he to her. In the cold beginnings of spring, their love kept them warm, and eventually they were married.

Called to bless their noble union was Archbishop Rhea, the leader of the Church of Seiros. Upon seeing the bride and her groom, she warned both:   
“Patience is a virtue, as love is a blessing.   
In the winter, I see the bonds lessening.   
Though this sort of union I have seen never;   
the bonds of you both will soon be severed.”

Her prediction left little impression on either the Duke and Baroness; in the end they paid no heed to the Archbishop’s warning and were wed. And as true to Rhea’s warning, Felix was killed while protecting his family’s territory against wolves. 

Broken by the loss of her love, Annette mourned in song. She sang night and day for a full moon until her woeful lyrics eventually reached the Goddess Sothis’ ears. Pitying the woman, Sothis granted her a miracle; she guided Annette to the gates of Underworld where her husband now resided. Before Annette, she gave this warning:  
“Here you may find your beloved,   
but your voice and life will be coveted.   
Trials and tests and warnings you must heed;   
otherwise, neither of you shall be freed.”

Annette descended into the Underworld and faced her first trial, the River of the Dead: a body of water that divided the mortal and immortal world and filled by souls who had been forgotten. Should one set foot in it’s waters, they would drown in the nothingness. Skeletal arms raised from the river, clambering for her life and her voice. Terror seizing her, Annette summoned her courage to sing to the dead waters.   


“Lives of lost, lives who’ve won,  
Part beyond to lead me to the one.  
Steal my slippers and wade away my cloak,   
But leave my passage clear and woke.”

At hearing her woeful song, the souls of the River bound their skeletal backs together. Their ghastly voices rose together and spoke:  
“Patience is a virtue, so is song;   
hurry on! You mustn’t be long.   
Fly like the mourning dove,   
go and find your love.”

Annette crossed the River without touching the waters. Leering further into the Underworld, Annette was met with the Cerberus, the wolf with three heads. Black as night and with eyes as yellow as the moon, it struck fear into all those who passed into the realm. Each head snarled at her, reminding her of her husband’s death. She sang once more.

“Beast of black and blue and yellow,  
Hear my song and for once be mellow.  
You had killed my husband, you have stopped our union  
But please do not stand in the way of our reunion.  
My heart belongs to him and only him;  
And your kind killed him on a whim,  
Yet, I do not see you as so grim.”

The Cerberus calmed by her song, laid at her tiny feet.   
“Annette, patience is a virtue, so is song;   
hurry on! You mustn’t be long.   
Hold tight to this courage you’ve caught hold of,   
go and find your love.”

Annette moved past Cerberus and continued onto the edge of the Underworld. In soft yellow light, she saw the glow of the God of this realm—Byleth, the Queen of the Underworld. She sat upon her smooth throne of marble and bones, with her sword of life and death. Her blank gaze instilled terror in Annette. With less than a word, the woman entered the chamber and knelt at her feet. She sang her final song.

“Short have I lived without another,  
Long have you lived among others.  
My heart is broken, my life is gone,  
For he, who is dead, was the one.  
Sothis, Seiros, Byleth—merciful Gods—  
If I may not have my husband, I am at odds.”

Her melancholy tore at the souls’ of the Underworld, rallying a deafening, mournful cry for Annette. Byleth’s stoic heart, Queen of the Underworld and all abnormal things, had melted at her song. She rose from her great throne, and with a sweep of her great hand, lead her to the tunnel to the surface. She leaned close to her ear and whispered,   
“Patience is a virtue, one you are not without.   
But your final test demands patience throughout.   
Keep your eyes forwards, and Felix will return to the surface;   
turn your gaze around and he will remain furthest.”

Annette felt a hand in her own. Finally, Byleth said to her;   
“Go, you’ve found your love.   
Now take him to the world above.”

With shaky breath, Annette faced forwards into the dark tunnel. In one hand, she conjured a flickering flame, and in the other, she held her husband’s hand. The way to the surface was long and winding, leading up a great mile. The tighter she grasped Felix’s hand, the tighter he held back, reassuring her. But worry still plagued the woman, so she began to sing the duet that had cemented their love. However, Felix remained silent when she finished her part. Nervously, Annette called behind herself.  “I cannot hear your voice or footsteps, Felix my love.   
Tell me, will you come to the world above?”

Only silence followed from Felix’s lips. With bated breath, Annette hurried to the end of the tunnel. Seeing the bright white light of snow, she made a run up the staircase to the surface. Bathed in the winter sunlight, she turned around to finally see her husband once again. However, patience evaded her and Felix had not yet set foot back on mortal soil. Before her eyes, her husband faded away and the gate to the Underworld became nothing more than a lump in the snow.

For ages, Annette begged the Goddess to allow her one more test of patience, but Sothis, Seiros and her Saints had turned their ears from her. At the end of her mortal life, Annette’s mourning songs had all become lover’s ballads, with her duet with husband had become a particular favourite across Fódlan. Time weathered it’s meaning, as did Annette. Finally, after many years she was reunited with Felix and her story of impatience was passed down in Faerghus for many, many years. The moral that she could never learn was that patience is a virtue, as love is a blessing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is actually the first fairy tale i wrote for the collection so i hold it a little closer than the others (the other eldest is 'true beauty' which will come up much much later)  
> is faerghus the home of the underworld or the entrance? maybe idk, they just give off highkey underworld vibes. and more on byleth will come up much later, but their name means the king of hell so thats my reasoning why she's vibing on a throne and chilling with forgotten spirits. she likes to help ppl its canon.


	4. The Lovers, Leicester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Leicester legend wher the cunning Claude plays a deadly trick with Lorenz over the heart of the huntress Leonie. Roses, revenge, piety and arrows fly. A revision of the legend of Apollo, Eros and Daphne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy friday. i think this is one of my favourites, tbqh. i adore this legend ever since i was kid so when i started the collection for real i knew i wanted it in the grouping, along with a few others. it's sorta special to me. at first this was a faerghus/leicester tale but i really loved the idea of marianne and ashe in the lady shallot so it got chucked--originally claude's role (as eros) was filled by sylvain and i only really thought of changing it when i needed an archer and who better than claude.  
> thanks for everything yall do.

The young Duke-to-be Claude and Count Lorenz were both known across the Leicester Alliance as flirts, philanderers and on occasion, skirt chasers. Few women had not known of their failures—or triumphs—against their sex. But the young Duke-to-be was coy and conniving, thinking himself the better flirt than the equally youthful Count. Playfully, and on good terms, Claude invited himself to Gloucester Territory to keep good tensions between Houses Gloucester and Riegan.

“Oh Claude, when will the day come that you finally land a woman?  
And not some common class girl, a true noblewoman!” Lorenz teased after a young maiden had dumped her basin of water on the young scion.

As he spoke, he offered a rose to a passing noble girl. She huffed at his words and stomped down on his foot. Claude laughed loudly.  
“Lorenz, I know well of the mysteries that are women's hearts.  
Perhaps you could benefit from more education on the art...”

Infuriated, Lorenz retaliated:  
“You may be able to charm noblemen and lords into submission,  
But a woman’s heart is a more dire mission.  
She is not just some prey to corner,  
Now, shall you be schooled, young foreigner?  
The reasons your relationships never last is due to your nature:  
Overbearing and obnoxious, with a voice worse than a tinny overture!  
Being frank dear Claude,   
I see all your relationships at odds.”

Forcing a smile, but furious and hurt, Claude followed Lorenz back to his manor. In secret, he coated on his arrows from his renowned bow—Failnaught—with dark magic from Adrestia. The first spell turned the arrowhead and shaft gold with love and intense passion. The second spell turned the arrow into lead, drenched with disgust and hatred. The arrows, imbued with magic, would not fatally kill or hurt anyone, but only make the heart lust and loathe.

Claude, having approached the noble Lorenz to forgive him, suggested a hunting trip in the woods that surrounded Gloucester’s lands:  
“A small trip, out into the forest,  
To hunt game and put our trifle to rest.” Claude offered.

“What an idea, Claude, to help our bond recouple:  
Let us meet in the morn, near the old, large maple.” Lorenz agreed.

And just as the Count suggested, Claude waited for Lorenz near the old, large maple tree. He brought Failnaught and the tainted arrows and studied a spot near to the maple. Along it were the borders of a small village of hunters. From it’s land came a young huntress brandishing a knife and snares. Her beauty compared to that of a saint’s devoted cleric, but her demeanour rivaled a wild red wolf.  This woman—Leonie of Sauin village—was not just some other maiden that would do for Claude's plan. She was a village elder’s daughter and devoted to following the Saint Indech, as her master. Her father had wished her to marry, and for many years her hand was sought by many men from varying backgrounds, but she always resisted. 

Wishing to be like the Saint she revered, Leonie devoted to the blade and hunts. And like Indech, she was not skilled in the arts of conversation, let alone romance. Eventually, her father relented, and allowed her to live her life as she wanted. Amongst the briers and bushes of a nearby rose bush, Claude watched as Leonie made a snare to catch small animals. 

_ She will be my choice.  _ Claude thought to himself.   
_ Sorry honey, I hope you’ve got one helluva voice.  _

From the corner of his eye, he saw Lorenz draw closer, prepared for their hunt. Claude smiled, hidden by the leaves of the maple, he drew the lead-dipped arrow back and aimed for the centre of Leonie's heart.   
_Showtime!  
I'll see everything, this spot is prime._

He released the arrow and watched as it dissipated in a splendour of ash and dust. Leonie cried out and fell into a slumber.  Just as Claude planned, Lorenz heard the woman’s cry and hurried closer. The foolish nobleman bent down to wake her, and Claude drew the golden arrow. With a swift pull of his bowstring, the arrow landed in Lorenz’s back with a wondrous splash of colour. In a bright and warm light, the arrow disappeared. 

Snickering to himself, Claude hid in the tree and watched as the two began to wake. In the same moment, their eyes met. Lorenz’s heart filled with intense passion and love for the sight of the villager before him; while Leonie’s heart soured with hate and disgust at the nobleman before her.  She forced herself to her feet and began to hurry away from Lorenz without a word. She fled into the forest, with the Count chasing after her.

“Wait fair lady, I am the nobleman of these lands!  
Prithee, grant me a moment in your presence, for I have never seen one so grand!”

Leonie bitterly retaliated.   
“I know of your position and place,  
But do not think me so simple, I’d rather never again see your face!”

“Might I know the name of the woman who scorns me so?”

“Leonie! Now hurry and go.”

“Leonie, a name only rivaled by the Saints of the Goddess.  
To think such a beauty is a mere huntress!”

“Speak not of the Saints! You taint their ancient names!  
Such a thought is heresy! Have you no honour or shame?”

Undeterred, Lorenz began to follow her through the forest, pushing past briers and brush. As he moved, he dropped his weapons and tomes.  
“My lady! My lovely Leonie. Please, I can make you the most noble of girls!  
Follow me, please, and I shall make you my wife, I’ll dress you in pearls!”

Leonie scoffed, breaking into a run. She cried out:  
“What business does a hunter have in pearls?  
I’m no noblewoman, nor am I a prize to be paraded before Earls!  
Leave me now, fly like a bird  
Or face more wrath from my words.”

“My sweet lady, I would bear it all!  
For you are like a warm breeze in cool fall.  
Dear Leonie, if pearls are not your forte,   
My noble name would give you comfort, make you ex-parte!” Lorenz cried as he followed her. Consumed with love and lust, he ran as fast as he could.

“A name is nothing more than a string of letters;  
A like a chain around your arms and legs: fetter and tether!  
Why would a hunter want anything to do with such captivity?  
Now be gone, and do so with brevity!  
Leave me now, fly like a bird  
Or face more wrath from my words!”

“Then does a life of luxury please you better?  
Tell me honestly, do you long for this life of debtors?  
One word Miss Leonie, and I shall make it all go away.  
Please say it, lovely huntress, please say you shall stay.  
Such a thought;  
It is comforting, is it not?”

“No! Never! I devote myself to the Saints!   
Love is a false truth, just some feint,  
I believe not in it, nor do I believe the words  
Of a nobleman, which sour like curd!  
Leave me now, fly like a bird  
Or face more wrath from my words!”

Lorenz followed in close pursuit, but stumbled upon an upturned tree root. The orange spot that was Leonie began to hurry fast and scaled a wall of ivy. Claude, watching on in honest interest, shot one more arrow to bring down the curtain, knocking Leonie back to earth. She cried out to the heavens above,  
“Seiros! Macuil! Cethleann! Cichol! Indech! Please save your daughter of Sauin!  
Take me from here, turn me away, turn my existence into ruin!  
Take me from the predator, this nobleman of passion,  
Make my body white and ashen!”

The Goddess Sothis, mother of the Saints, heard Leonie’s plea. In a moment of death or demise, Sothis intervened on Claude’s cruel trick. With a wave of her great hand, she transformed Leonie into the spiky briers of a rose bush. Her hair became the soft red petals, her limbs the mangled and thorny brush and her feet morphed into the shallow roots.

Lorenz fell before the rose bush that was his love. His heart, aching and broken, he promised it this:  
“Never shall you leave me.  
Leonie, my dear love... Your blossoms I shall always see.  
I shall honour you forevermore,  
Let your roots take to the forest floor   
a nd I’ll tend to your blooms with amour.”

With his vast wealth and resources, Lorenz tended to Leonie’s roses for the rest of his life. Even in the snow falls, rare to Leicester, she continued to bloom. It was said that the nobleman of Gloucester was never seen without a rose on his breast, a sign of his beloved.


	5. The Dame and the Diva, Adrestia and Faerghus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Class and wealth clash between Adrestia and Faerghus and two lovers pretending to be the other. A twisted retelling of Mark Twain's "The Prince and Pauper".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i completely forgot that it was femslash february. wlws forgive me.  
> originally this week was supposed to be 'the river' which retells acis and galatea BUT we've had too much sadness we need some girls loving girls ok. happy femslash feb  
> i just wracked my brain to figure out how tf do i move one of the larger fics to the middle which is also a cross-border story without it breaking the structure. solution: i fuck up the entire structure. apologies to anyone who downloaded the pdf, it's completely out of order now lmfao  
> thanks for everything yall do ♥️♥️♥️

There is a tale told between the lands of Adrestia and Faerghus about two beautiful women whose looks were only rival led by each other. The first, hailing from Enbarr in Adrestia, was an opera star named Dorothea. Her voice had charmed all of Fódlan and her beauty sparked fires in the hearts of all. While greatly talented, Dorothea was poor and under the opera company’s yoke to perform across Fódlan tirelessly.

The second came from the frosted lands of Galatea territory in Faerghus. Her name was Ingrid and her beauty was spoken of all through land as was her chivalrous and kind heart. In addition, she had been blessed with the Crest of Daphnel, which had supposedly disappeared from the House for decades. Akin to Dorothea, Ingrid was neither in good standing financially; her duties to Galatea were to marry well and save her family from dire straits and pass her rare crest on. 

Plucking at the strings of fate, the Goddess Sothis willed Dorothea’s opera company—the Mittelfrank Opera troupe—for a tour of eastern Faerghus and western Leicester. And at the same time, she whispered to one of Ingrid’s suitors to take her to the opera. While wandering about the meagre opera house, waiting for her suitor to return, Ingrid found a flower girl, peddling her wares of roses. Taken with the beautiful flowers, she purchased one. While not one for extravagance, Dorothea’s voice had moved her to tears, and she wished to thank the diva for traveling so far.

Usually, Dorothea dismissed every visitor who arrived upon her dressing room door and turned their flowers away, but when she gazed upon Ingrid’s beautiful face, Dorothea opened the door wide enough to let her in. As Ingrid entered and marveled at all the flowers in her room, Dorothea spoke.  
“Goodness and all sweet things,  
You are beautiful, like an angel with wings!  
Tell me sweet lady, what is your name?  
Your kindness and chivalry has set my heart a flame.”

Blushing as red as the rose, Ingrid bowed and said:  
“You may call me Ingrid,   
Please forgive my intrusion, Goddess forbid.  
I am taken with your voice, as sweet as cakes,  
Honest to the Four Saints above: it makes my heart ache.”

Taken with her kind and bashful nature, Dorothea invited her for a drink as she prepared for the evening ahead.   
“Tell me Ingrid, you and I share similar looks  
‘Tis almost like an artist drew us in the same sketchbook.  
We share the same shade of eyes,  
And while our hair differs it could be easily be dyed.”

Curious, Ingrid replied:  
“Dorothea what is your game?  
You are a star, and I, a dame.  
Stop me if I stray,   
But do you wish for our lives to trade?”

Mischievously, Dorothea agreed. She disclosed her distaste with constant traveling and performing, while Ingrid discussed the woes of a stagnant, courtly life. Only a few small things separated Dorothea and Ingrid’s appearances: their heights, Dorothea’s earrings and voices.  
“Oh if only we could trade places,  
I would favour new lands and unfamiliar faces.”

“Why ever not? Tell me Ingrid,  
It could be our little dream, totally lucid!”

In a moment of conflict, Ingrid agreed. Dorothea fetched two wigs from the costume room, styling them appropriately. She placed Ingrid in a pair of heeled shoes to make her the same height as she, while Ingrid ordered her to slouch a little. Dorothea gave Ingrid lessons on how to soften her voice to match her tone. To solve the problem of Ingrid’s lack of singing voice, Dorothea concocted a spell, casting it on the collar of her necklace—it would sing every ballad Dorothea was to perform, and Ingrid only needed to mouth along. With the final touch—the change of Dorothea’s robe and Ingrid’s best dress—the two had changed places.

“There! We look like each other!” Dorothea said.  


“And shall we trade places with another?”

“Yes! For three moons!  
From Harpstring to Garland to the Blue Sea star!” The diva proposed.  
  


“And when we hear the summer larks croon,  
We will hurry back to each other from afar.” The dame agreed.

“Here, petals to always remind you of me,” Dorothea proposed, plucking the soft petals from the rose that Ingrid had given her.

“When I gaze upon it, your visage I shall see.” Ingrid promised, tucking the petals in the robe pocket.

As they began to part, there was a knock at Dorothea’s door. Behind it, Ingrid’s suitor waited. “The time for farewells has come,” Ingrid said.

“As long as I think of you, my heart will sing like a lyre’s strum.” Dorothea promised, before leaning close and pressing her lips to Ingrid’s.

Stunned and shocked, Ingrid watched as Dorothea left. But Sothis, as merciful as she was, was also a trickster. Immediately upon Dorothea’s return to the suitor, he commented on her height.   
“Oh how keen are your eyes!  
The diva gave me heels, do you dare chastise?”

Immediately, taken aback the suitor left the diva alone. However, things went more poorly for Ingrid. After Dorothea had left, Ingrid was approached by the manager of the opera, who wished for her to immediately sign posters for buyers. Not knowing Dorothea’s signature, she feigned illness. Things only continued to grow more troublesome from there: Dorothea became too friendly with her suitors, earning a verbal lashing from Count Galatea, while Ingrid was to perform an aria and fainted from stage fright halfway through the performance.

But the two were discovered halfway through the Harpstring moon when the senior diva, Manuela, treated Ingrid’s fainting spell.

“Who are you?!” Cried the senior diva. Ingrid’s wig had fallen away and her heeled boots had given out beneath her feet. “Where is the Mystical songstress?!”

“I am not Dorothea, it is true!  
She and I have swapped places and changed dress!”

“Why ever so?”

“Dorothea wished for safety, and I wanted to go.”  
I am Ingrid of Galatea,  
I only wish to be free.”

Understanding that she was of the Faerghus aristocracy, Manuela quickly fell to a bow.   
“Countess Galatea? Please, forgive me!  
The countess and courtier changing places is something I couldn’t foresee.  
The Goddess must smile upon you to allow you to flee.”

Manuela agreed to keep Ingrid’s identity a secret, as well as to carry letters from Ingrid to Dorothea. Quickly, they changed from short reports of what had happened, to love letters between the diva and the dame. M eanwhile, many of the servants to House Galatea thought their young countess was unwell. She spent more time with her suitors than before, and less training on the battlegrounds. She sang with the voice of an angel, while Ingrid could barely keep rhythm in her feet. 

“Do you not worry for your daughter?  
Seems the leash she’s on should be tauter.” The strict and young Duke of Fraldarius, Felix, commented.

“Nay, let young Ingrid enjoy this life,  
Not much longer and she shall be someone’s wife.” The jovial and equally young Margrave Gautier, Sylvain, countered.

But Count Galatea was just as confused as to his daughter’s change in behaviour; as to the airy sighs he heard outside her bedroom door when a letter arrived for her. He prepared a test, to prove to the Duke and the other servants of the palace that she was still his daughter.

The Count asked Dorothea to sit in on a round table discussion of Galatea’s many problems. He presented her with the most troubling issue: that of food and provisions. Again, the land proved infertile and hard to work with, and it fell on the Count to decide who would receive rationed food. Such a problem would be often presented to the Countess once she ascended.

“The problem is troublesome at first glance...  
But perhaps we should change our stance?  
Give the harvest to our servants and commonwealth:  
Then reach out to the other lords in good health.  
Surely they will share,   
After all, we all breathe the same Faerghus air.”

Count Galatea pondered her response before reaching out to the young Margrave, Duke and Countess Charon in the southwest. The Countess, Catherine, was the first to reply, agreeing to share their wealth of food with the nobility, on promise of a visit to the mountains.

Pleased with Dorothea’s answer, Count Galatea turned his ears from any other suspicions that his daughter had changed. He left the majority of the harvest to Galatea’s commonwealth, and invited Catherine to the mountains with Charon’s bounty. However, when Catherine arrived and happened upon Dorothea, she felt the absence of Daphnel’s crest. In secret, she called Dorothea to the guest quarters. 

“Where is Lúin, the user of Fire Quake?”  
“I fear I know naught of what you put at stake.”

“Only the Crest of Daphnel may use it.”

“I do not know of it’s location, I admit.”

Catherine poised her hand on Thunderband, Charon’s relic and immediately Dorothea dropped her coy act.  
“Alright! I am not the Countess Ingrid.  
I am a mere opera star who bears her looks, somewhat turbid...”

“Why ever so?”

“Ingrid wished for freedom, and I wished for no more woes.  
I am Dorothea of Enbarr,  
I wish to no longer be a star.”

Understanding the Adrestrian values of art, Catherine quickly fell to a bow.   
“The Mystical Songstress? Please, forgive me!  
The countess and courtier changing places is something I couldn’t foresee.  
Sothis must smile upon you to allow you to flee.”

Like Manuela, Catherine agreed to keep Dorothea’s identity a secret, as well as to carry letters from Dorothea to Ingrid, meeting Manuela in the middle. All seemed perfect for a short time, But during the Garland moon, tragedy struck. Count Galatea fell ill and succumbed to death. With his passing, Ingrid’s wedding date had been pushed up and a suitor had been selected.

Dorothea wrote a rushed letter, pleading for Ingrid to return to Galatea. However, the Troupe’s stop in Galatea had finished and the Opera’s manager began to move towards Faerghus’s capital, Fhirdiad.   
“Catherine, fly like the lark!   
Bring Ingrid and Manuela to me,  
My heart, once a flame with love, now withers to a spark:  
I only wish to be with her, my darling she.”

As fast as she could, Catherine rode her horse to the Opera’s troupe, declared that the Countess Galatea wished for the Divine and Mystic songstresses to perform at her wedding. She fled before the manager could object. Traveling through wind and rain, Ingrid’s wig eventually degraded, but did not look back, for fear of losing her sweet Dorothea.

Guards attempted to stop Catherine, Manuela and Ingrid. But when the countess stood before them, in a dress ruined by the summer rain, the guards paused in curiosity.  
“I am the Countess Galatea,  
Lower your swords and take knee.”

But the guards refused, crying out that the true Ingrid was about to be married.

“I know the location of Lúin!   
Look where the wallpaper thins,  
Between the boards I have stashed it,  
So that no dirty hands may defile it.”

While the guards left to check Lúin’s whereabouts, Ingrid crashed the parlour where Dorothea began to bridal descent.

“Ingrid!” Cried the diva.

“Dorothea!” Cried the dame.

The two embraced before the suitor and wedding guests, who were more perplexed than anything. The guards returned with Lúin and began to try and take away Dorothea. But before they could, Ingrid fell to her knees.

“Dorothea, being parted from thee;  
Has hurt my spirit and taken all my glee.  
Please, do me the privilege, the honour, the gracious sonata,  
Of being my wife, the voice to my cantata.”

“Oh Ingrid, my star,  
The beacon, my aria!  
Of course I’ll be your wife,  
And together we’ll live a long happy life!”

With Lúin found and the true Countess returned, Ingrid cleared the name of her love and wed her in the summer sun. Together, they lived a long, happy life as Dorothea had wished. With her mind and common experience, and Ingrid’s chivalrous voice and affluence, saved Galatea territory from ruin. It is said that along the pathways to their home, roses bushes grew through all times of the year, as a symbol of the diva and the dame’s undying love.


	6. Waxen Wings, Leicester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a small island, just north of Edmund’s territory, there once was an artisan, a labyrinth, a monster and a pair of “Waxen Wings”. A retelling of Icarus's fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy thursday everyone! i'm updating a day earlier bc i'm gonna be busy all day friday (ya bitch is going to the ballet lets hope i find the gf of my dreams like ingrid in the last chapter lmfaooo)  
> anyways i think i can say without a doubt, this is another one of my favourites. like i love all the legends i cover in here but this one just hits different. i knew when i started the collection that i wanted ignatz as icarus--cant say why, maybe it's the i name--but i didn't know how to approach it at first. regardless i really love this one and it's actually the only fic without any romantic elements in it.   
> thanks for everything y'all do ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

In the great lands of Leicester, north of Derdriu, there was an island inhabited only by flora and fauna. Humans could live there, but it was far from other land, making it impossible to leave. The only way to pass towards it—for whatever hellbent reason—was by the lock keeper. However, the lock keeper was incredibly expensive, demanding twenty gold coins, a lock of hair and one’s most prized possession.

One fateful day, the Margrave Edmund called for the best artists, sculptors and designers across Leicester. He proclaimed to the group:  
“One of you shall travel to the island,  
Create a labyrinth on the land   
To hide away criminals and beasts,  
And should you succeed, you’ll be rich enough to afford a feast.”

The Margrave narrowed the pool down to the finest three artists in Leicester. He asked them to paint the most beautiful sight in all of Fódlan. The first painted the Fields of Gronder, and proclaimed it the beautiful beginnings of Leicester following the Crescent Moon war. The second sculpted a bust of the Margrave’s daughter, Marianne, proclaiming that she was the softest sight in all of Fódlan. Finally, the third artist—the youngest son of a noble family, named Ignatz—took charcoal to paper and lovingly sketched the Goddess and her four Saints, suggesting that it was the most beautiful sight in all of Fódlan.

Impressed by Ignatz’s suggestion of unity and rendition of the holy Sothis and her Saints, Margrave Edmund awarded him the position.   
“Sail young Ignatz, to the island.  
Construct me a labyrinth, one of no end.  
Begin at the sight of the Guardian moon   
And end on the eve of the Ethereal moon.”

On the eve of Ignatz’s departure, Duke Riegan’s grandson, Claude, caught wind of Ignatz’s success. Knowing of the island’s inability to escape, he hurried to him with hundreds of red and white wax candles. Under the Guardian moon, Claude dropped the bags of goods at his feet. Hurriedly he spoke:  
“Young Ignatz, receive these goods:  
Use them to fly from the island and wretched woods.  
But carefully heed this warning,   
Do not over or under reach, or you will not see morning.”

Before Ignatz could ask further questions, Claude sped off on the back of his steed. Perplexed, but still ready to seek his duty, Ignatz faced the lock keeper. He offered the lock of his hair, the gold and his most prized possession—his paintbrush from childhood, which he created many works of art with. The lock keeper accepted the gifts, escorted Ignatz across the river, and left him on the shores of the island. He spoke a warning to the young artist:  
“Hold fast to hope and faith young boy,  
Do remember that this is of your employ.  
One year shall pass, then the Margrave shall come:  
Should he like your work, you will be sent home.”

The lock keep pushed off the shore and Ignatz set to work. Each moon brought new work for the young artist.

Under the Guardian moon, Ignatz constructed his plan to morph the island into the labyrinth. On parchment, he sketched the walls, the traps, the passages, the obstacles and the puzzles.

Under the Pegasus moon, he watched Pegasi fly through the air as he dug the island’s trenches. He collected their fell feathers to use as props and lures.

Under the Lone moon, he celebrated his birth and constructed all the walls and halls to create the Labyrinth. It’s single star in the sky reminded him of his lone task.

Under the Great Tree moon, he planted roses and briers along the walls, so that no one may cheat their way out.

Under the Harpstring moon, he sung songs of the Goddess and lured out traps to halt trespassers.

Under the Garland moon, he marvelled at his roses that sprung from the land and allowed himself one in his hair. He constructed a tower, at the centre of the labyrinth.

Under the Blue Sea moon, he prayed for the Goddess’s guidance and love. He wrote clues, all connected to the Elites, the Saints and the Goddess to direct those around the grounds.

Under Verdant Rain moon, he waited out the constant storms and sharpened weapons, for use in the labyrinth for survival.

Under the Horsebow moon, he harvested small provisions and drew rainwater, so that those inside would survive.

Under the Wyvern moon, he watched as wyverns took to the sky and collected their fallen scales and talons as props—like he had done under the Pegasus moon.

Under the Red Wolf moon, he heard the calls of wolves across the water. He placed the finishing touches upon the labyrinth, painting all the walls beautiful colours.

Finally, under the Ethereal moon, Ignatz climbed the tower and marvelled at his work. The labyrinth was perfect, and the Margrave would be pleased.

On the final day of the year, the Margrave arrived and gazed upon the brier-laced walls. He paced the edges of the labyrinth and laughed bitterly.  
“Well done young Ignatz.  
Your labyrinth is massive, as it is vast.  
Now comes the final test;  
Start at the centre and see if it, you may best.  
And to keep our game interesting,   
We shall play for your life, for you to continue living.”

Ignatz’s brow furrowed as the Margrave ordered the lock keep to escort him back over the waters. Shocked and scared, he realized the Margrave’s true intention. At the centre of the labyrinth, there laid a sleeping beast, black as night and wide as the mountains of Fódlan’s Throat. The labyrinth had been constructed to hold the beast, and scheming as the Margrave was, sought to kill the only one who knew how to escape.

But in his time of solitude, Ignatz had become self-reliant. He had kept the parchment which he drew the plans. He found the Pegasi’s fell feathers and collected them. He wove through the halls and walls of the labyrinth and avoided the briers. To keep himself sane, he sung songs of the Goddess and her Saints as he hurried to the centre of the labyrinth, where the tower loomed. 

As he fled through the labyrinth, as quick as the early morning doves, he deconstructed the clues and prayed to the Goddess for her protection. When it began to rain and the Beast finally woke, Ignatz found a bow and sword and used them to fight the creature. In moments of respite, he collected the provisions and drank the rainwater. He also happened upon the scales and talons that had fallen from the wyverns overhead and added them to his packs. When the beast drew near, Ignatz howled like the red wolves of Faerghus, and quickly followed along the colourful walls to the centre of the labyrinth, where the tower stood tall.

Narrowly escaping the beast, Ignatz realized what Claude had given him. A bag full of candles, enough to melt down into an ocean of wax. Struck by a revelation, Ignatz used the wax, the pegasus feathers and wyvern scales and talons to construct a pair of wings. When he outfitted himself with them, and miraculously found that he could fly, he was overcome with giddiness. He recorded his entire journey: from his task from Margrave Edmund, to constructing the labyrinth, making his wings and to the eve of his escape.

Under the arc of the newborn Guardian moon, Ignatz prayed to the Goddess to protect his soul. Summoning all the courage he had, he ran from the edge of the tower and spread his great wings, flapping furiously. He sailed over the labyrinth, leaving the confused beast behind, and began across the waters that separated the island and Leicester.

But as he did, he gazed upon the sun and was overcome by it’s beauty. In it’s golden rays, he saw Sothis herself and attempted to fly closer. The sun’s heat began to melt his waxen wings, sending him closer and closer to the sea below. The salty air clogged his wings and ruined the pegasus feathers, so that they began to fall away. Ignatz flapped helplessly and fell into the water below. His body washed along the shore, and young soldiers along Derdriu took recording of the artist’s rise and fall, which became well known. Ages on in Leicester, parents and children, professors and scholars would tell the tale of Ignatz. The moral the poor boy could not learn, was to value one’s gifts and to never reach for more.


	7. The Stone, Adrestia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrestia and Brigid are forever united in this retelling of Perseus and Andromeda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a short something to get our minds off the world outside lol. thankfully, its a happier one too.  
> this fic almost didn't make the cut! i wrote it so late, which is why it's so itty bitty. but i do really love it, bernie and petra deserve the world.   
> fuck count varley i hate his guts.  
> thanks for everything yall do ♥️♥️♥️

Count Varley of Adrestia was vainglorious and self-absorbed. After the birth of his only daughter, Bernadetta, she spoke harshly of her. He praised her beauty for ages to come and attempted to mould her into the perfect wife. From her Mother she inherited great beauty, and from her ancestor, Indech, she inherited a penchant for the arts. However, Count Varley forbade painting and writing from Bernadetta. And secretly, Bernadetta practiced them.

Often, in the Emperor’s court, the Count spoke of Bernadetta’s beauty. He would proclaim:  
“My daughter Bernadetta’s beauty is beyond all of this land:  
And for that, I will let only the worthy take her hand.” 

Yet, none of the nobles nor counts would listen or ask for young Bernadetta’s hand. Many were aware of the Count’s cruelty, and worried for poor Bernadetta. But no one told him to stop speaking so highly; until one fateful day. Before the court and cathedral, he claimed:  
“Bernadetta’s beauty is beyond compare,  
Of all the ladies of Adrestia, no matter how fair.  
My daughter is more beautiful than Seiros,  
And all four of her Saints that glow.”

This proclamation reached the Goddess Sothis’s ears, sparking rage in her heart. Such heresy turned the Goddess against poor Bernadetta’s favour. For revenge, she summoned a great storm to force the Count and his family from their home. Fleeing to the Emperor’s territory, they found safety in House Hresvelg, along the Adrestian coast. 

During their stay, the young scion, Edelgard, demanded a walk along the shoreline with Bernadetta. While the two wandered the coast, Sothis sent a sea monster to ravage the beaches and steal her away. With it, she conjured a deadly tempest to hide Bernadetta’s location and ward away rescuers.

When Count Varley realized that his prized daughter had been swept away by the waves, he prayed to the Goddess. She laughed upon his prayers and begs and proclaimed:  
“You have abused my love and smirched your name,  
Never now, will your mind be sane.   
No respite shall come to you,  
Unless you offer up your daughter to the sea of blue.”

Count Varley, furious, sent all his best warriors to try and slay the monster, but to no avail. Only their armour and weapons washed up on the shores of Adrestia, and their bodies sunk into the depths of the sea.

Mercifully, Sothis did not order the monster to hurt Bernadetta. Instead, the monster took her to the edge of the tempest, where the waves subsided, and safely laid her upon a rock. Magical chains bound her to the stone at the centre of the island, that she may not escape until the true of heart could rescue her. Thankfully, Bernadetta cried to the heavens above:  
“Gracious Sothis, thank you Goddess.  
This isolation and stone you have blessed,  
I will not move from this spot,  
Not even should I begin to rot.”

The Goddess, now blessing Bernadetta with her protection, kept her safe beyond the tempest. Ages passed and Count Varley eventually lost hope. Around the same time, the Empire welcomed a princess from a neighbouring kingdom, Brigid, to their land. The visit, albeit brief, passed well. However, the princess, Petra, left Adrestia and passed by the tempest. The monster attacked her ship and she washed upon the shores of the rock.

Bernadetta, shocked, happened upon her. She nursed Petra back to health, healing her injuries. Returning to reality, Petra gazed upon her saviour’s face and asked:  
“Why sweet girl are you alone on this island?  
What twist of fate forced the Gods’ hand?” 

“The Goddess wishes to protect me from my Father;  
He wished to marry me off, his only daughter.  
He compared me to the Saints,  
And for that the Goddess cast me off to this land of restraints.” Bernadetta explained. 

Petra, not familiar with Fódlan’s culture or figures, still prayed to the Goddess above. Unlike the rest of Count Varley’s soldiers or even heroes alike, Petra did not fight the sea monster, nor tried to force Bernadetta from the stone. And when Sothis gazed upon the way the princess looked at Bernadetta, she knew that the true of heart had broken the chains.

Sothis returned to the island for only a moment before the lovers. With a wave of her hand, she broke the chains and stone and constructed a boat to leave the island.  
“The spell has been broken by brave Petra,  
You may leave this lone island, dear Bernadetta.  
Flee to Brigid, the archipelago in the south,  
And never speak of Fódlan by mouth.”

Eternally grateful to Sothis, Bernadetta fled the island with Petra. In time, the two fell in love and eventually married. The tale of Petra’s bravery and Bernadetta’s modesty became a favourite of both Brigid and Fódlan. At the end of their lives, Sothis felt such love and admiration for the both of them, that she constructed constellations in the sky for them. On clear nights, one can see both the stars reaching for each other’s embrace.


	8. The River, Faerghus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rivers connect Galatea lands to Fraldarius territory, and the waters carry the spilled blood of two young lovers. A retelling of Acis and Galatea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time to be emo... me @ ingrid: you met god bitch. lets get you some good writing  
> we outta order boyssssssss. also my exams are cancelled? i may do monday/friday updates from now on then... idk

Born along the grand mountains of Oghma and in the valleys of Faerghus was the beautiful and strong Ingrid of Galatea. She was the daughter of the straits, compared to the nymphs in tales for her beauty: and her luck was beyond mortal comprehension. Her desirability increased when her parents found that she bore a minor Crest of Daphnel, one that had been thought lost to the sands of time.

Days after her birth, Count Galatea sent a letter to Duke Fraldarius, suggesting that his eldest son, Glenn, take her hand in marriage when she came of age. The pensive duke contemplated the proposal—his eldest son was not a carrier of a Crest, and his wife was expecting another child fairly shortly. He was a handsome young boy and had the makings of being the next Duke of their lands, should the next child not bear a Crest either. 

But Galatea territory was a land that was rife with problems. The Oghma mountains made it troublesome to grow good, hearty crops and became subject to petty land squabbles with their old house, Daphnel, over inheritance. Unfortunately neither Daphnel or Galatea had flourished after their separation.

Still, Duke Fraldarius was a man of thought and strategy; he wrote to Count Galatea and asked to arrange to meet the child at a year’s age, to judge if her beauty matched Glenn’s looks, and if her Crest was true and not a slip of the tongue.

When the year passed, and Duke Fraldarius’s second son was born—with a major Crest, no less—he travelled with Glenn to Galatea territory to see the Count and his daughter. Just as the Count had said, Ingrid did possess a minor Crest; and just as the Duke feared, Galatea territory’s resources were scarce. The land was nothing more than wastes and mountains and snow from the strait that connected Fraldarius to Galatea.

But with his second son, Felix, possessing a major Crest and Glenn bearing none, the solution was clear: Glenn would be the next Count Galatea, while Felix became the next Duke Fraldarius. In the dark of a private study, against the howls of winter winds, the Count and the Duke agreed to the betrothal of young Ingrid to Glenn. And shortly after the deal was struck, the Duke and his son sailed along the rivers that connected them to Galatea.

Throughout the years, Glenn and Ingrid grew closer. For a stint of time in her youth, Ingrid was sent to Fraldarius territory in the summers. During that time, she grew closer to Glenn, as well as Felix and the Margrave Gautier’s son, Sylvain.

Before the first drops of sunlight that melted the permanent snow under the Great Tree Moon, Ingrid was lectured on how to behave before House Fraldarius. And every year, she acted as noble as a knight, as kind as a queen and as sensitive as the Goddess above. When her boat travelled along the cold waters of Fódlan and her eyes finally met Glenn’s, who waited for her on the docks of his territory, she felt her heart flutter with excitement. Time spent with Glenn was time away from strife, away from never-ending famine and struggle. 

However, parting was terribly hard for both young lovers. When the air grew colder and the Horsebow Moon took to the skies, Count Galatea would order for the return of his daughter. During the first year Ingrid came to Fraldarius territory, Glenn comforted her for the journey ahead:  
“Moons and towers stand between you and I,  
But forever the Goddess shall watch over us, on high.  
My sweet Ingrid, my tender sun, think of me always,   
And soon you shall return along this same water way.” He promised her, holding her hands.

Ingrid just as surprised, but calmed by his promise, spoke back:  
“Rivers and hours part us,  
But as vigilant as the moon, never shall my adoration rust.  
Think of me always dear Glenn,   
And soon I shall be back, with the calls of young wrens.”

Thus became their promises to each other, to carry on through the long cold winter and keep them sated until they could reunite in the spring once again.

When Ingrid was in Fraldarius territory, the two would walk along the waters during warm summer nights. They would bet if they could walk long enough to reach the capital, Fhirdiad, Itha territory or even see the bricks of Conand Tower in the south. With these long lazy summers, and smooth, chivalrous walks, Duke Fraldarius bet that the two would fall for each other long before he or the Count had to push the arrangement along. In Ingrid’s 18th year, Glenn proposed the idea of marriage as they walked along the riverbanks. Under the Verdant Rain moon, Ingrid accepted with wonder and excitement.

However, a wedding, even with two noble houses, takes a long time to arrange. It would commence in a few short years. And as Ingrid lifted herself into the boat to take her back down to Galatea, she dared to give her fiancé a loving first kiss goodbye. So taken with her lips, Glenn fled in the night to join her in Galatea territory.

Ingrid heard the wild calls of her fiancé, and docked her boat along the rivers of Conand Tower—a dangerous place to be. From the mangled and snarling brush, Glenn appeared and begged to join Ingrid in her homeland. But before the lovers could reunite in blissful joy, a beast, ravaged by a Relic appeared from the Tower. Blinded with fury and vengeance, the beast attacked Glenn, knocking him back into the river. With all her strength, Ingrid fought off the beast back to the Tower, but not before her fiancé succumbed to his injuries. 

“Sweet Ingrid, my tender sun...”

“Oh, Glenn, please our life has just begun!”

“I fear my time is cut short,  
But ever shall I remember, your darling support.  
I love you sweet Ingrid, always remember that,  
Such mercy that my last sight is you, amongst this dying habitat.”

Ingrid pleaded and prayed to the Goddess for a miracle. And Sothis, as merciful as she ever is, used the blood that split from Glenn’s wounds to become the lifeblood of the river. His blood also spilt onto the snowdrops that grew nearby, which had been dubbed acis. While Glenn could not return to the world of the living, he existed along the straits and rivers that connected their lands, which Ingrid rose to everyday until her death, joining him in the watery depths. To this day, the rivers that flow between Galatea and Fraldarius are known as the straits of Acis and Galatea.


	9. Self Reliance, Leicester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The selfish heiress Hilda must learn important lessons of "self reliance" after a sour deal with her ancestor, Goneril. Based on "The Miller's Daughter" (aka Rumpelstiltskin) by the Brothers Grimm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: i can't stand hilda at all. she pisses me off (i vibe with leonie's hard work no-nonsense, diy attitude more tbh) but when i sent this fic out to other people and they love it?   
> but it does have some of my favourite rhymes in it, lots of fun with the scheme and i feel like it's more childish which is dope. it's also the first to feature an ancestor--like tbh, i was at a loss on how to go with this story but like! goneril! wassup babey!  
> anyways! i hope everyone is being safe and healthy atm. see yall monday.  
> thanks for everything yall do! ♥️♥️♥️

For all the unwanted gifts Hilda had, one of them was her brother’s boasting. He crooned all across Leicester that his younger sister was the greatest in most everything. 

“Might she sew?” Asked a lieutenant.

“She knits, crochets, darns so well, all others’ look faux!” Holst cried.

“Does she dance?” A noble lady asked.

“In perfect time, by no mere happenstance!” Holst cried.

“Can she carry a noble conversation?” 

“Without the slightest hesitation!” Holst cried.  
“My little sister can lift tables over her head,  
Her body is tiny, but thick as pure lead!  
Little Hilda is the finest in land,   
So I will protect her, and let no man win her hand!” He cried out loud and often.

And surely, the Duke Riegan’s grandson—the young Claude—caught wind of such a talented girl. Taken with the rumours, he presented himself with the royal procession before House Goneril. 

“I am Claude, heir to House Riegan.  
From across the land I’ve heard the general’s cries to his region:  
That his little Hilda is the finest in all the land.  
So I have come to seek her hand.”

Duke Holst could not refuse the leader of the Alliance, and allowed Claude to court Hilda. To her lazy nature, she attempted to play Claude into her hands, but he was just as sharp as she. He plied her with small, exotic gifts from Almyra to the east, and many compliments which she lapped up. And then, one night, Claude presented her with a handful of straw.

“Here, darling Hilda. The General sings of your talents.  
So I present you with a friendly challenge:  
Spin this straw into gold,  
And perhaps, your hand might be the one I hold.” He said, pressing the grains into her hands and leaving with less than a word.

Although she was quite capable of many things, Hilda was never one for doing work herself. Still, a little work for a life of many luxuries was too tempting to pass up. But Hilda was not a seamstress, nor a threader or a magician of any sort! So Hilda sat upon her chaise, and pondered, then whimpered and cried aloud:

“I can’t do it! No matter the cost!  
Such ancient talents, we humans have lost!  
Goneril, Seiros, Sothis save me!  
Turn this straw to gold and answer my plea!”

In the dark of her chamber, the vision of her ancestor, Goneril himself appeared.  
“Hilda, oh Hilda, silly little heiress:  
Your pleas do rest upon my ears and press.  
Give me your earrings, a value of nobility,  
And quickly I shall turn this straw into gold with inhuman ability.”

Shocked for a moment, Hilda stared at her long-dead ancestor. But quickly, she plucked the hoops from her ears and gave them to the apparition. He sat in front of the spinning wheel in the corner of her room and spoke in ancient tongues. Within the blink of an eye, the handful of straw became soft gold that slipped between her fingers.

Hilda, pleased with the success, prepped herself to meet the heir. She made herself look the best, but not before Goneril warned her:  
“Impudent child, she who could care less!  
How could my bloodline digress?  
Heed this warning, young Hilda—self-reliance is everything,  
Without it, you will have nothing.”

But Hilda did not care and waved off her ancestor’s spirit. When she presented Claude with a handful of gold, he marvelled at the sight. As he suggested, he let his hand meet hers when they walked through the rose gardens later that day. 

When night fell, Claude presented Hilda with a basketful of straw, telling her to repeat the same feat:  
“Here, darling Hilda. The General sings of your talents which are true  
So I present you with another load for you to turn with value.  
Spin this straw into gold,  
And perhaps, your lips might be the ones I console.” He said, pressing the basket into her hands and leaving with less than a word.

Hilda lounged upon her chaise again. First she pondered, then whimpered and finally cried aloud:  
“I can’t do it! No matter the cost!  
Such ancient talents, we humans have lost!  
Goneril, Seiros, Sothis save me!  
Turn this straw to gold and answer my plea!”

With her cry, Goneril once again appeared.   
“Ah, the heiress to my lands,  
My granddaughter with ever-idle hands...  
I thought I had warned you of self-reliance:  
And not of being a hinderance!”  


“Oh Goneril, please please please!  
Weave this straw into gold for me, and I promise I’ll leave!” Hilda cried out.

“All things come for a price:   
Now give me your necklace of ice.” Goneril demanded.

Hilda paused—the necklace upon her collarbone had been a gift from her mother. The diamonds had been plucked from their lands and made to celebrate her birth; parting with it would hurt. But she thought of Claude, and with little hesitation cast it into Goneril’s open hand.

Goneril took the necklace and returned to the spinning wheel. From his hand he turned the straw to gold; as he held the basket just from Hilda’s grasping reach, he warned her again:  
“Remember young Hilda—self-reliance is everything,  
Without it, you will have nothing.”

Hilda, as always, played along, but disregarded Goneril’s warning. She hurried to her vanity, prepping to look her best for the Duke. In the morning, she presented Claude with the basket of spun gold. Shocked that she could repeat it again, and true to his word, Claude pressed his lips to hers after dinner causing much of a stir.

Finally, that night, Claude presented Hilda with a room full of straw.   
“Darling Hilda, as talented are you are beautiful:  
I give you straw, of which there is a room full.  
Spin this straw into gold,  
And I promise, you will be the one with whom I grow old.”

Captured in rapture and promise of an easy life, Hilda returned to her chaise. First she pondered, then whimpered and finally cried aloud:  
“I can’t do it! No matter the cost!  
Such ancient talents, we humans have lost!  
Goneril, Seiros, Sothis save me!  
Turn this straw to gold and answer my plea!”

With her cry, Goneril once again appeared. His apparition, once white, was now blue with depression.  
“Hilda my descendant,  
Do you not listen to commands I’ve sent?  
I warned you of self-reliance,  
Yet you do not know the price.”

Hilda laxly laughed.   
“Of course I do ancestor!  
I’ve gold and riches, and many investors!  
Now please, weave this straw to gold,  
Then your spirit may rest, for ages old.”

But Goneril was not jovial, nor lax as Hilda.  
“The price of this straw,   
Is worth more than your running maw.  
To spin it all into gold:  
I demand your firstborn for mine to hold.”

Hilda, both shocked and stunned, fell off her chaise. However, she agreed to the deal. The room filled with silk gold and Goneril disappeared, speaking one last warning.  
“Poor young Hilda—self-reliance is everything,  
She never learnt it, and now has nothing.”

Hilda contemplated her decision for the entire night. She did not even primp herself for when the young Duke arrived at her door. He marvelled at the gold-filled room and immediately dropped to his knees before her.  
“Darling Hilda, hear my plea:  
I wish for you to marry me.  
Become my Duchess of Riegan,  
And together our lives can begin.”

Hilda accepted and quickly, they married. While she forgot of the promise she’d made to Goneril for some short time, her worries resurfaced when she began expecting. On the night that her daughter was born—the future Duchess Riegan with the Crest of her mother—Goneril visited Hilda.

He waited expectantly for the child.  
“Please Hilda, do not try  
To run away or even cry.  
Hand over the child,   
Do not try to do something wild.”

But Hilda pleaded and clutched her newborn daughter tight.  
“Goneril please! I wish to make amends!  
For my daughter’s life I defend.  
Grant me one last chance,  
To honour your legacy of Fódlan’s defense!”

Goneril could not refuse his descendant. The spirit merely sighed and spoke slowly:  
“Show me your strength,  
Show me that you will go any length.  
Show me your self-reliance:  
That you might lead the Leicester Alliance.  
Go to the Fódlan’s Throat, and fetch me Freikugel,  
And I shall render our deal null.”

Faced with an impossible task, Hilda accepted for the good of her child. She fled from Riegan territory and into the wastelands that bordered Almyra. Through the rough terrain, Hilda forced her way into Fódlan’s Throat, pried Freikugel from Holst’s hands and hurried back to her home. Before her ancestor’s spirit she presented the weapon, and knelt to the ground.  
“Here Goneril, your axe of pure skill:  
I scaled Fódlan’s throat, turned my fears to thrill.  
I crossed the land through wind and snow,  
Only to save my daughter and husband by which you know.  
Please Goneril, I have learnt my lesson,  
I swear on my grave, that I will not let it lessen.”

Goneril, pleased with his ancestor’s revelation, smiled at last.  
“Silly heiress Hilda, you took the hard way,  
But alas, your plea caught my sway.  
I will leave you now, child of strength:  
But never cease to go to great lengths.”   


Goneril disappeared before Hilda’s eyes. And while shocked, she counted her blessings to her daughter and husband. Her tale of self-reliance and slothfulness would become a Leicester legend, told to many lazy children—even Hilda’s own.


	10. Innocence & Grace, Adrestia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Brothers Grimm’s Rapunzel and Perrault’s The Little Glass Slipper set in Adrestia’s harsh reality. Ferdinand is saved by a runaway opera star and toils to find her, only reminded by the earring she left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another one for taz; it started out as a joke actually. bonus points to anyone who recognizes ferdie's poem. i hope everyone is staying safe during these scary times. take care of yourselves.  
> as always, thanks for reading n everything y'all do ♥️♥️♥️

Once upon a time, in the sweet lands of Adrestia there lived a young boy with hair as soft and bright as the summer sun. His name was Ferdinand, eldest son of the country's prime minister. 

Before his birth, the prime minister’s wife, the Duchess Aegir, experienced horrible cravings for sweet foods. Even the sweetest of cakes, the softest of buns and the most sugary of teas could not sate her cravings. She refused to eat, threatening starvation. Then, struck by revelation she cried out:  
“Bring me a Saghert and Cream,  
It is the dessert of which I dream!”

But the recipe to Saghert and Cream needed one special ingredient, Noa fruit, which grew in only tempered climates. Servants to the House Aegir scoured the lands until they happened upon the sweet fruit; however, it grew in the garden of a powerful witch. She refused every servant upon her land, every offering of gold, power and wealth. Finally, Duke Aegir approached her himself. The only way the Duke could secure the sweet fruit was by promising Ferdinand to the witch upon his birth. Regretfully, the Duke agreed. 

Shortly after taking the fruit to his wife, the Duchess gave birth to a healthy child. The Duke attempted to send Ferdinand away to neutral territory—to the town of Garreg Mach in the middle of all Fódlan—but the witch stopped him before he could succeed. 

The witch took Ferdinand and raised him as her own. As the years passed, he became a thoughtful and poignant child, with hair the colour of the rising sun. Many proclaimed him to be the world’s most beautiful child. 

When Ferdinand turned twelve, the Duke attempted to retrieve his son after learning he carried a Crest of the saint Cichol. To protect him, the witch took him to a tower in the forest and left him a library of poetry. The tower only had one room and one window, that Ferdinand sat in front of many days, reciting his favourite stanzas. The witch would visit Ferdinand in the daytime, listening to his poetry and keeping him company, but in the nighttime, he was left lonesome and distraught. And often, he would speak his stanzas to the moon.

In the fall of his 18th year, a young opera star happened upon his tower. Her name was Dorothea, and she had been separated from her troupe while travelling along the ravine of Morgaine. She wandered through the forest, over tree roots, along mossy paths and to the spot where great pine trees grew miles high. In the shade of the trees, Dorothea listened to Ferdinand’s poetry. 

_ “Poor heart of mine,   
Please may these poems pass the time.  
What is love,  
Fleeting and floating like the cloud above?  
Is it the craving, the yearning;  
The pain and the aching?  
The chase and the catch  
Of what can or cannot be snatch’d.  
Or of the Goddess who plays tricks  
On the poor souls of fools  
Who long to become lovers  
Be it only for time’s little spool.  
And the pain that follows  
Of which we wallow.  
And the changing of seasons  
And our lessened reason.” _

Ferdinand’s strong voice attracted her and held her focus for ages. When Dorothea eventually found her troupe, she broke away from them, deciding to stay in the forest and listen to the man with the long hair in the tower. She watched as the witch called up to Ferdinand in the days, with the same similar tone. 

“O kind Ferdinand,   
lend me your hand!  
Let down your sunlit hair,  
to become my red stair.”  


Finally, with all her courage, Dorothea stood at the foot of the tower and called up the same plea. Struck by her beauty, Ferdinand immediately fell in love Dorothea. The diva was taken with his poetry and would sit and listen to it throughout the night. Occasionally, she would sing old arias that she performed before thousands of crowds. But most often, she would listen to his woes. One fateful night, he loomed out of the tower’s window and gazed upon the flowers on the ground:  
“Long have I loved the roses that grow,  
At the foot of my tower, way down below.  
But alas I may not reach them,  
For I may never leave then.”

When he lowered Dorothea to the bottom of the tower, she plucked a rose and looped it in the bottom of his locks.   
“There, now a rose for your hand,  
from down below in the land.  
Think of it as my love,   
that calls like the sweet dove.”

Ferdinand gasped at it’s beauty and kept it hidden from the witch. But every night he would gaze at its beauty, withering but sweet. As the days turned into weeks, then to moons, Dorothea never ceased visiting, eventually becoming good friends with those near the neighbouring territory.

Every night when Dorothea would flee from the tower, and Ferdinand would plead to her:  
“Sweet Dorothea, please!  
Stop your feet and stay with me.  
I can hide you deep in this tower  
Where we can wait away the long daylight hours.”

But Dorothea knew the price that would come if she were found out. The way Ferdinand so scarcely and cautiously spoke of his guardian, the witch, Dorothea knew that she could not be discovered. 

As she began to leave under the full Blue Sea moon, Ferdinand threw down his hair and pleaded to her.  
“Marry me sweet Dorothea, be my bride—  
And from this tower, together, we shall ride.” Ferdinand wished.

“Sweet Ferdinand, of course we shall,  
Here, take this silk and weave it a ladder tall.” Dorothea produced a piece of silk.  


Night by night, Dorothea returned to the tower, bringing Ferdinand more and more pieces of silk to weave. As a promise to him, Dorothea plucked an earring from her ear and handed it to him.   
“As long as you have this,   
my heart will never beat and think of you without miss.”

However, Ferdinand held fast to the rose all night after Dorothea had left him. He did not hear the call of the witch to let down his hair. She scaled the wall of the tower and found him fast asleep, holding both the rose and the earring tightly.

_ I had not brought him roses,  
_ _ Some, new outside threat poses! _ She thought.

In rage, the witch tore the earring from the sleeping prince and woke him from slumber. She took a knife to his hair and cut to the nape of his neck. Furious, she cast him out into the wilderness, with nothing but the rose and the earring.

That night, when Dorothea called, the witch lowered Ferdinand’s hair and hauled her up. When she rose and met the eyes of the witch, Dorothea cried out:  
“Oh Ferdinand? Sweet Ferdinand?   
Where do you hide? Come out, I demand!”

“Wretched girl, you’ve trespassed upon my secret;  
Now begone, and live with your regrets!” The witch cried.  
“Never again shall you see your Ferdinand,  
Poor soul, he’s met his end!”

Dorothea cried out as the witch ripped way the locks and pushed the diva from the tower. Foolishly, she dropped the long lock of hair, dooming herself to die inside the tower. Dorothea fell from the top, her fall broken by the patch of roses. However, the flowers’ briers had scratched at her eyes and blinded her.

For many moons, Dorothea and Ferdinand wandered the opposite sides of the ravine of Morgaine. When all hope had been lost, royal guards stumbled upon Ferdinand on the edge of Hresvelg territory. By sheer luck and circumstance, Duke Aegir was in the territory for work and recognized his lost, beautiful son.

As the tests were ran and Ferdinand found his true family, he still longed for Dorothea. He pleaded to his father to send out guards to Morgaine and search for her. When Morgaine and plains of Aegir proved empty and unable to find her, Ferdinand relented.

The Duke called for a ball to welcome his first born son home. The young duke-to-be became swept up in royal tea time, jousting tournaments and tests of diplomacy. He continued to send out guards to search for Dorothea, only driven forward by the earring she’d dropped.

“Here, take this earring.   
Bring me it’s owner: a lady of singing.” Ferdinand ordered to the guards.

Ages passed, but Ferdinand never did lose hope. He asked for roses to be grown outside his chamber window, to remind him of the singer, of her lovely voice and heart. But so sad did the blooms make him, and eager to find her despite his fate.

After that fateful day, Dorothea’s voice had carried along the ravine. It quickly reached the ears of a hunting emperor-to-be, Edelgard, who took the singer into her care. Edelgard nursed her back to health, but could not return sight to Dorothea’s eyes, keeping her from looking for Ferdinand or returning to the opera troupe. Often, to repay the princess, Dorothea would sing for her; and always, Edelgard would ask:

“Tell me dear Dorothea,  
You look longing, what might my eyes not see?  
You sing mournfully, of a love long gone,  
Tell me the person behind your song.”

Dorothea, not wishing to inconvenience Edelgard further, only ever said her song was that of a long lost love. However, she always kept the second earring close, growing ragged and rusted with the passing years. It never matched the fine silks and beautiful silvers that Edelgard insisted she wear.

Once, on a cold day under the Pegasus moon, a guard from Aegir territory had been sent to House Hresvelg.   
“Bring every woman to the front, Emperor.  
His Grace searches for an earring from days of yore.”

Obeying, the servants of House Hresvelg obliged, producing all their silvers. But Dorothea, blinded, could not see that they were searching for the matching earring that she now wore as a necklace charm. Once again, the guards returned to Aegir from a fruitless search.

However, it did not stop fate. Five years passed and Duke Aegir called for the ball to re-establish his son into the nobility, inviting every noble leader including lady Edelgard. And shyly, as she began to prepare, Dorothea asked:  
“Lady Edelgard,   
My protector and noble guard.  
Prithee, allow me to join the ball?  
If only for a moment, that is all...  
I may not dance, nor witness the splendour   
But my ears must hear it, my heart must render.”

And righteous and kind as Edelgard was, she agreed. Almost like an angel heaven-sent (or some sort of fairy godmother), she outfitted Dorothea in a dress of fine crimson silk, a crown of silver, and the finishing touch—a pair of glass slippers.

They attended the ball, and immediately Ferdinand recognized her. Cautiously, he approached and asked for a dance. But Dorothea apologized:  
“My lord, I must refuse.  
I fear my feet will not be of use.”

Ferdinand, a gentle and noble man at heart, insisted to stay by her side for the rest of the night. He refused to dance with any other girl and instead, conversed with Dorothea under the moonlit sky. At one weak moment, his eyes did wander to her neck; around the collar was the matching earring he’d searched for. Cautiously, he asked:  
“My fair lady, have you a singing voice?  
If you have... I might rejoice.”

And softly, scarcely, Dorothea opened her mouth and sung the same poem that Ferdinand had read her. Struck, Ferdinand embraced her tightly and spoke again,  
“Sweet Dorothea, do you not recognize me?   
‘Tis Ferdinand! Your long-lost lover bee!”

At the mention of his name, Dorothea quaked.  
“Darling Ferdinand, I fear I do not,  
For my eyes are blinded, I see naught.  
From the tower I fell into a patch of rose briers.  
Lady Edelgard found me, and made me her courtier.  
I still love thee, o darling Ferdinand,   
But if your feelings have changed, I do understand.”

Aghast, Ferdinand cried:  
“Never! Never shall my feelings change.  
Darling Dorothea you must be deranged!  
Please my sweet, take me to be,  
Your lover, your one and only.”

The sight of Dorothea, healthy and alive, was enough for Ferdinand. As they had planned to, they married. The sight of Dorothea, smiling once again and in a wedding dress stirred so much emotion in Ferdinand’s heart that he began to weep. And as they kissed as husband and wife, Ferdinand’s tears fell into her eyes, and returning sight to them. Their tales—of innocence and graciousness—became favourites in Adrestia and won Fódlan over. Together, they lived happily ever after.


	11. Eternal Slumber, Leicester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young countess in Leicester is cursed by a vengeful mage with dual Crests which dramatically shorten her lifespan. By Riegan’s grace, she is saved, but at the cost of a century’s sleep that can only be ended by true love's kiss. A revision of Sleeping Beauty by Charles Perrault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this week's update is a repost from february. i hope y'all enjoy n keep safe, times are weird. i may update again on monday bc reposting feels cheap but this is how i planned the fic to go.   
> as always, thanks for reading n everything y'all do ♥️♥️♥️

Once upon a time in Leicester, there lived five great lords that ruled the land equally: the cunning Duke Riegan, the gifted Count Gloucester, the mighty Duke Goneril, the articulate Margrave Edmund and finally, the reputable Count Ordelia.

Invested in the affairs of the neighbouring territory, Count Ordelia offered aid to a house, Hrym, in the southeast, just beyond the bridge of Myrddin. Offended by the interference from the Alliance, the Empire struck down Ordelia’s assistance and attacked House Hrym. Around the same time, Countess Ordelia began expecting a child. 

When the child, Lysithea, was born, a ball was held to celebrate her arrival. All of Ordelia territory was invited, as well as the five great lords and an advisor on behalf of Viscount Hrym. Each lord presented Lysithea with a gift from the Goddess Sothis. 

Count Gloucester blessed Lysithea with a great talent for magic. Through her veins, magic-blessed blood flowed. Before her, he spoke:  
“Genius Lysithea, never shall you be held as tragic,  
Not with Gloucester’s penchant for magic.”

Duke Goneril offered forth his diligence. He squeezed her tiny hand, instilling a grasp of authority in her palms. Before her, he spoke:  
“Strong Lysithea, you shall go to great lengths,  
With the power of Goneril’s strength.”

Margrave Edmund gave his intelligence and articulation. Into her tiny ears he spoke of all the ways to use one’s influence. Before her, he spoke:  
“Affluent Lysithea, never shall you stumble,  
By Edmund’s influence, others shall be humble.”

Before Duke Riegan could bless the child, Viscount Hrym’s advisor presented himself before the Count and Countess and Lysithea. He leaned close to the child and pressed his hand to her head. The child let out a cry.  
“Poor Lysithea, your parents’ burden you must carry,  
For they failed House Hrym and had only tarried.  
Upon this child I lay the curse of two Crests:  
Major Gloucester and minor Charon, which will speed forth her death.  
Upon her 19th year, she will perish after pricking her finger  
And until then, the grim reaper will linger.”

Upon hearing the curse, Goneril lunged for the child’s bassinet. Edmund readied his sword, while Gloucester attempted to reverse the curse with white magic. The Margrave managed to take the mage to the sword, but it could not reverse the damage. Young Lysithea’s fine dark hair had turned white, and her eyes became pink as roseate.

Duke Riegan, knowing that he must save the child, abandoned his original gift. With his power, he lessened the curse. Before Lysithea, he spoke:  
“Lovely Lysithea, carrier of Charon and Gloucester,  
Riegan’s spirit will protect you and not let this curse fester.  
Upon pricking your finger, you will not be gone,  
And instead fall into a slumber in which will last a century long.  
To reverse this curse, a young man shall see the young miss  
And break the spell with true love’s kiss.”

In a burst of light, the curse dissipated. Regretful that he could not do more, Duke Riegan offered all counsel he could to Count Ordelia and his wife. Still, the Count and Countess adored their daughter and lived in fear of the day that they would lose her.

Until they did, Riegan insisted that they cherish every moment they had with Lysithea. They encouraged her to read and write and enjoy her life, but Lysithea felt a lingering sadness in their smiles when she performed her spells for them. In secret, the Count ordered for the burning of each and every spinning wheel, spindle and sharp objects in their territory. Fountain pens, needles, knives were all banned from Ordelia lands. House Gloucester territory promised to provide wool and thread to the people of Ordelia until Lysithea’s 19th year passed; Edmund provided swords and hoes to farmers in secret; Goneril provided graphite mined from Fódlan’s Throat to replace ink pens and Riegan offered his guard to monitor imports to the county.

In her 19th year, House Ordelia lived in constant fear of Lysithea’s impending doom. They believed that if they could make it beyond the age of 19, she would be safe and free. The Count, the Countess, their servants and Lysithea herself waited breathlessly on the eve of the Lone moon. The five great lords that had helped to secure Lysithea’s safety had been invited to the manor, to claim all their gifts they’d bestowed upon her.

Count Gloucester beamed at Lysithea. For him, she performed a myriad of spells to charm his house. Nobly, he shed a tear and spoke:  
“Genius Lysithea, your penchant for magic is unrivalled;  
Such talent could never be equaled!”

Duke Goneril nodded approvingly at Lysithea. For him, she sat before House Ordelia’s problems and provided ample solutions. He cheered loudly and spoke:  
“Strong Lysithea, your diligence is unmet!  
Such perseverance, I could never forget!”

Margrave Edmund gazed at Lysithea with a scrupulous gaze. For him, she presented a speech that he couldn’t resist. As she finished her thesis, he spoke:  
"Affluent Lysithea, your influence is vast;  
Such thought, a conflicting one could never last!”

Before Duke Riegan, Lysithea appeared as herself. To the grand Duke, she simply smiled and offered a much-protected piece of sweet cake. Duke Riegan merely laughed and accepted the gift. To him, she spoke:  
“Kind Riegan, leader of our Alliance,  
Thank you for giving my life a second chance.  
Your protection has granted me another life,  
And keeps me from much strife.  
I am Lysithea, carrier of Charon and Gloucester,  
and thanks to Riegan, my curse is lesser.”

The ball brought itself to a halt as the grand clock in the ballroom began to chime. It’s death knell brought in midnight, and all eyes flocked to Lysithea, watching as she stood stock still and her 20th birthday approached. As the clock chimed the final time, silence fell over Ordelia territory. As the disbelief settled and Lysithea continued to draw breath, House Ordelia erupted in thunderous happiness, shaking the heavens. Her 20th birthday was celebrated with great peace and happiness, and a ball that lasted through the night. 

Lysithea was never a fan of frivolity. She enjoyed the chance to dress up and appear in front of her subjects as a graceful young woman, but she quickly tired of the dance. She slipped away from the ball, and returned to her room. Upon her writing desk, a bouquet of red roses waited for her; a gift, titled on the card from some unknown suitor. Gazing at the lovely flowers, Lysithea sighed, and plucked one from the vase.

The rose thorns dug into Lysithea’s fingers, drawing blood. At the sight of the brier in her finger, Lysithea gasped and cried out:  
“Foolish am I,  
to have been blind.  
The rose thorn that pricks my hand,  
Was spared from Father’s ban.  
Hrym’s curse is now fulfilled,  
And my blood and tears have been spilled.”

She attempted to pull the brier from her finger, and managed to pull the thorn away, but it could not reverse the cruel curse placed upon her. Sleep loomed over poor Lysithea and quickly, pulled her into her century-long slumber.

Realizing Lysithea had fled the ball, the Count and Countess searched their manor for her. When they happened upon their daughter, fallen to the curse that they had tried so hard to prevent, they fell into great grief.  
“Poor Lysithea, forced to carry our burdens,  
Now the hole in my heart widens.” Countess Ordelia wistfully spoke.

“Dear Lysithea, the curse that claims her,  
Was the result of a rose, with its beautiful lure.” The Count observed.

Duke Riegan, Count Gloucester, Duke Goneril and Margrave Edmund sped to the family Ordelia. Duke Goneril carried her to the tallest tower of their manor, laying her to rest in the finest room. Count Gloucester presented her the finest veil of violet silk to lay over her body. And Margrave Edmund removed the rest of the thorns from the roses, before setting them in Lysithea’s hands.

In grief, Count Ordelia cried:  
“Cruel curse, Lysithea’s fallen to fate!  
Oh the ache, it becomes too great.  
Now we must leave this place,  
But never forget her sweet face.”

“Halt, dear Ordelia, do not be hasty.  
I reversed only a sect of this travesty.  
Lysithea will fall into a great slumber,  
but her growth will not be cumbered.  
Should Lysithea wake all on her lonesome,   
She will be very worrisome.  
I can place this castle under the same sleep,  
To help comfort the young Countess and safekeep.” Duke Riegan proposed.

Count Ordelia regretfully accepted. A nursemaid, servants and other people of Ordelia remained in the castle with Lysithea. Duke Riegan placed a curse upon the castle, it’s people falling into the same slumber that Lysithea was placed under; until true love’s kiss, the entire castle would remain asleep. Using powerful magic, Count Gloucester constructed a forest around the castle, dense and dark as night. Along the castle walls, he planted roses as tribute to Lysithea’s beauty and demise. Duke Goneril tamed an Almyran beast and set it to protect the castle for a century. And Margrave Edmund used his influence to spread rumours that the castle was abandoned and haunted. All these blessings protected Lysithea from House Hrym further.

With their work completed, the five great lords left Castle Ordelia. The Count and Countess prayed to Sothis each and everyday that Lysithea’s curse would be lifted. However, it never came to fruition, and the Count and Countess passed.

A century came and went: the five great lords had children whose children had children and went on to have children of their own. Riegan’s line crossed over the mountains of Almyra, creating the cunning and charming Claude. Gloucester’s line bore noble children, one of them being the presumptuous Lorenz. Edmund’s line wavered, but steadied itself with the woeful Marianne. And Goneril carried forth the military tradition at Fódlan’s Throat with the lazy, but capable Hilda.

Invasions and skirmishes came along Fódlan’s borders, with Almyra crossing to fight. And one of which, was a young knight in training, Cyril. In the frays of war, he became separated from his company and wandered through Goneril territory and to Ordelia’s abandoned lands.

Intrigued by the rumours that plagued the territory, Cyril approached. Villagers and civilians warned him of the beast that lay in wait to protect the area and the curse of a dead princess in the walls of the castle. But Cyril ignored them and crossed into Ordelia territory. Edmund’s influence failed.

The dense wood blocked out much of the sunlight. And through the soles of his shoes, rose thorns poked through and scraped his feet. Cyril raised his axe and cut away the briers and wood. Gloucester’s magic spell broke down.

Then, as Cyril made his approach to the castle front, he was met with Goneril’s beast—a wyvern three times the size of a man. Cyril stayed brave and approached the wyvern with a calm intent. He tamed the beast, and was allowed to pass. Goneril’s protection was shattered.

Gossamer threads and cobwebs decorated the castle. Still in tact from the ball a century ago, Cyril stepped around favours and streamers. Upon the wall, he gazed at a portrait of the young Countess Ordelia, posed with a tome of magic. Taken with her beauty, he explored the castle, eventually coming to her chamber in the smallest room of the highest tower.

Cyril gazed upon Lysithea, having not aged a day. In her slumber she looked peaceful and gentle just like a princess. The roses and riches that surrounded her did little to rival her beauty. And gently, Cyril lifted the violet veil from her face and kissed her, breaking Hrym’s curse with true love’s kiss.

Lysithea’s eyes fluttered open and she gazed upon her rescuer.   
“Gentle lord, prithee what is your name?  
You have broken my long slumber and my heart is your claim.  
I am the Countess of this land, Lysithea von Ordelia,  
Answer me with your name, hear my plea.”

Cyril obliged, still gazing upon her lovely face.  
“Sweet Countess,   
I am no lord or master, I must confess:  
I am a simple soldier, and Cyril is my name.  
But I am struck by Cupid’s arrow which took aim.”

The rest of the castle rose from their slumber. Cyril and Lysithea left the county and made for Derdriu, presenting the lost Countess before the four great lords. Their parents and their grandparents and their great grandparents before them had told the tale of Lysithea for ages. One by one, Claude, Lorenz, Hilda and Marianne welcomed the Countess as their fifth and final member of the round table. Cyril became her steadfast companion and lover and in time, they married, returning Ordelia territory to its former glory. Like the five great lords, the people of Leicester constantly told the tale of young Lysithea, dedicating the last day of the Pegasus moon to her.


	12. The Sculpture, Faerghus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heir to Gautier territory finds himself falling for a statue by the name Ingrid, of Galatea. A retelling of Cyprus's Pygmalion and Galatea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact : i wrote a paper on ugly ducklign transformations and talked about pygmalion n galatea n almost lost my shit at my ta bc she said pygmalion was based on a play and that galatea was an irish myth.   
> i think this is one of my faves, bc i love the legend n i love.. sylvgrid. also ignatz is the commissioned artist, just for the record it is him. love ignatz.  
> also! i have an exam starting todya and running to next week so updates may be delayed. havent forgotten, i promise!  
> stay safe out there everyone.  
> as always, thanks for reading n everything y'all do ♥️♥️♥️

The young heir to Gautier, Sylvain, was a coy and crass man. Across Faerghus he was known as a skirt chaser and a flirt, his exploits well known across all of Fódlan even. While his father, the Margrave, wished him to settle down and stop his philandering, Sylvain persisted.

However, old Gautier was sly and smart. He knew the ways of his young heir’s heart. He called for the finest artisans in the land to reach his manor and lay plans for a great sculpture. A young noble painter in Leicester answered, drew up the sketches and prints and sent them to the Margrave.

In plain sight, the Margrave left the plans. Eyes of the springtime meadows, hair of fine-aged wheat, and like the proposed name, Galatea, skin of milk white. She was posed with a long lance, her eyes cast heavenwards, looking like a valkyrie sent by the Goddess. Immediately, Sylvain saw the sketches of Galatea and took an interest in her.

In the secret of the manor’s drawing room, he attempted to bring the statue to life. The first day, Sylvain attempted to sketch her beauty. But the charcoal in his hand could not capture the softness of her cheeks and the smoothness of her jaw. The next day, Sylvain took to a paint brush. But the bristles in the brush could not match the soft strands of her hair or her willowy hips. On the third day, Sylvain armed himself with an ink pen. But the feather tip could not record how elegant her long fingers and limbs were.

Tired, and almost crazy with the desire to create Galatea—whom he now called Ingrid for her beauty—Sylvain fumbled with clay on the corner of his desk. With the heel of his hand he was able to create the right amount of softness in her face, and with his nails he could define the stands of her hair, and with his fingers, he was able to craft her strong, lean limbs. He laughed with relief when he was satisfied with how she looked in mere clay. Almost half-mad with desire, he went to his father and requested for a block of ivory. 

“Five and a half feet high,  
As perfect as the woman in my mind’s eye.  
I wish to make her real,  
Beneath the fold of my hands, I want her to feel.” 

But the Margrave laughed at his son’s request.  
“Foolish boy! No man can make a human,   
And he who claims he can is only a conman!  
Your dreams are whimsical, and scarcely real,  
Yet never before have I seen you overcome with such zeal...”

So the Margrave ordered his servants to procure a piece of ivory to Sylvain’s request. They brought the stone to the drawing room, which faced the east of their lands. It received the best sunlight for the majority of the day, and looked out onto mountains that bordered on Sreng. 

First Sylvain made sure the marble was the size of the sketch’s dimensions: five foot and five inches, perfect as any mortal woman. Then he ordered for a chisel and hammer, and began to work away the hard edges of the stone. He laboured away day and night, with little rest or time for meals. Throughout several month, from the cold nights under the Wyvern moon to the full moonlight from the Ethereal moon that shone on the ivory robes of Ingrid’s frame, Sylvain crafted.

As more and more of Ingrid’s frame became noticeable: the length of her legs, the curves of her waist and the slight dip in her hip, Sylvain spoke to her. He told her of his cursed Crest, of the girls he’d flirted and flitted with, of his disinherited brother and the pains that his country felt. He spoke of his fears, his loves, his favourite things and imagined hers—training, chivalry and tales of knights. All the while, Ingrid stared down upon him with her all-knowing and unknowing eyes.

From Sylvain’s hands, he perfected the dips in her shoulders, the soft muscle that cascaded along her biceps, the sinew and tendons that pulsed while gripping her lance of stone tight. He never fancied himself an artist, only an appreciator of fine creations.

On the final night of the Ethereal moon, Sylvain completed the statute. A varnish was applied to her marble body, making her glisten like a star. All the servants marvelled at her beauty, and commonwealth gathered to view her from the bay windows that overlooked their territory. Even old Gautier himself was taken with the sculpture.  
“Finally my son, you’ve completed your masterpiece.  
Now rest, let your mind know peace.  
She is quite beautiful, her looks unparalleled;  
But Gautier needs you, our lineage must be upheld.”

However, Sylvain could not leave Ingrid, for he was so smitten with the statue. Love had begun to bloom in his heart, tangled between the briers he had carefully placed between him and anyone else who dared to come close. As a result of his attachment to Ingrid, he stayed in the drawing room with the statue for four nights under the early Garland moon. On the final night, he spoke to Ingrid, just as he had done since sculpting her. 

And from her heavens above, the Goddess Sothis looked down on Sylvain. Taken with mischievous intent, Sothis watched as Sylvain rose to his statue and gently cupped her ivory cheek.

“O beautiful Ingrid, if only you could hear,  
My earnest plea to take you in my heart, most sincere.  
Your lance has skewered my heart,  
You prefect, work of art.”

Bringing his lips to her stone ones, Sylvain kissed the statue. Just as he did, Sothis breathed a cold wind—the one of life—along the borders of Sreng and through the Gautier estate. Broken from frozen ivory, Ingrid moved and melted into Sylvain’s kiss.

Bashful and blushing, Sylvain pulled away, as Ingrid of Galatea beamed upon him. 

“Sylvain, my companion...  
Long have you stayed with me, not leaving this mansion.   
Prithee... could a meagre statue,  
Find a love with you that is true?”

Shocked and blessed, Sylvain agreed and the two were wed. And before long, the strange tale of the sculptor and the creation he brought to life became known across Faerghus. To this day, many contest if it’s true, or just some strange legend.


	13. True Beauty, Faerghus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While staying as a mysterious beast's companion, Mercedes begins to seek the truth and tries to understand her host's true beauty beneath his visage. A retelling of Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve's Beauty and the Beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the other og fairytale from the beginning of the collection, along with patience. unlike the prior, it underwent a LOT of revisions. first, it wasn't even in rhyme, second, i had to rebuild a lot of the structure to fit the scheme, third, it was much shorter, i jsut added an assload more when i revised the work. anyways, i dont even like mercedes and dimitri but i do hold this story very close to my heart because i wrote it back before the collection was a thing and because beauty and the beast is one of my favourite fairytales. i got nothing else witty except that it feels weird to be finally posting true beauty? i remember writing the note for patience and being like "Awwwww i cant wait to post it!!!" and the day has come. feels weird.  
> also. as i've said before, i took a lot of inspiration from angela carter's the tiger's bride and the courtship of mr lyon when writing this. her stuff is amazing and you can find it for free online. however, i used de villeneuve's work more primarily.  
> last note before i dip, i have a second book of fairytales available for download via my wip blog. the post contains information about the update schedule. i hope y'all will come back for the others! (link:https://roraruu.tumblr.com/post/616940438051504128/a-little-book-of-fairytales-is-now-available-for)  
> as always, thanks for reading n everything y'all do ♥️♥️♥️

Once upon a time, in the lands of ice and snow known as Faerghus there lived a beautiful woman. She was kind beyond words and ready to give all that she had. For her kind heart and giving soul, she was affectionately called Mercedes. 

She and her mother, Baroness von Martritz, lived in a church in the west of the Kingdom. Both Mercedes and the Baroness were pious, and in his lifetime, the Baron had given handsomely to the Western Church. Upon his death, the Baron instructed his wife and daughter to flee to the church for safety and shelter: the Baroness became a volunteer, using her charms and whims to secure goods and donations. To help the church, the Baroness would frequent trips to gather supplies for their needy. Every time she left, she would ask Mercedes for what she would like, and always, Mercedes would request for a rose as red as blood.

On one particularly bad trip along the Tailtean Plains, the Baroness found herself in a snow storm alone. Her steed had been scared by the howling winds and had run away on her. In the distance, through the storm and thick trees, she saw a large, dark castle of marble and ivy. The Baroness fled to it. She knocked thrice until the large front door swung open. The darkness beckoned her to a lone room, lit by candlelight. There, she found a change of clothes and a new cloak, a sword for protection and a hot meal. The Baroness gratefully ate, rested and the next morning prepared for her trip. On her bedside table, there was a piece of parchment, instructing her to take a horse from the stables. The Baroness obliged, however, before she had left the grounds, she saw a patch of roses, blooming from the white snow. Compelled, the Baroness plucked it from the snow, gazing upon it’s beauty with glee. Finally! A perfect gift for her dear Mercedes.

From the darkness of the forest, a creature in a thick pelt of fur appeared. His face was more lion than man, his height compared to that of a great deer and his hands were mangled and clawed like an eagle. The Baroness fell back into the snow at the sight of him. He bellowed:

“How dare you!  
Like a vulture, you flew!  
I give you shelter, I give you clothes,   
And you repay me by stealing a rose?!”

“Forgive me!   
I only wished to bring a gift to my daughter, for something as lovely as she!” The Baroness exclaimed.

The Beast backed away from the Baroness.   
“You’ve a daughter?  
No! Nay! That is all fodder!”

“Good sir, please, let me return to her,” The Baroness begged.   
"Our lives are more than meagre.  
To lose her would be more than fair!  
Nay, I’d rather never breathe our Faerghus air!”

“Is your daughter of beautiful looks?  
And what of her heart? Does it compare to virtues of a hymn book?”

“My Mercedes is the most beautiful and kind in land;  
Many suitors have begged for her hand,  
And wish to dress her as fine as a princess,  
But she could care less.   
The only thing she desires,   
Are roses, of which she never tires.” The Baroness explained. 

The Beast spoke gravely:  
“Old woman, you face a debt.  
Should you fail to pay, your life will be forfeit.  
Take the rose, and return to her home,  
And consult your daughter alone.  
Tell your daughter of his place, and let her decide  
If she will pay your debt or flee and hide.  
I will wait until the Guardian moon,   
And until then, Blaiddyd’s curse will loom.” He warned, then with a sweep of his pelt, fled back into his castle. 

The Baroness pushed herself from the snow and fled back to the church. She felt the heavy words of the Beast, immediately fearing the curse. Even when she presented Mercedes with the rose, she did not feel any relief in her daughter’s smile.

“Mother, where did you find such a rose?  
It cannot come from Faerghus, not in this snow!” Mercedes exclaimed.

Gingerly advising Mercedes that she was tired, the girl left. As the Baroness watched her daughter leave, enamoured with the rose, she whispered to herself:  
“O daughter, so sweet and innocent,   
If only you knew the price of this flower that Hell sent.”

As time passed, the rose did not wither and die, and upon the arc of the Guardian moon, Blaiddyd’s curse came. Illness took the Baroness, relegating her to her bed. When the monks and clerics thought she was about to die, Mercedes was called to her bedside. Realizing the fear and sadness she brought upon her daughter, the Baroness confessed:  
“Darling daughter, I am in debt to a ghastly beast.   
He saved me from death, in his castle to the east.  
But now he seeks repayment,   
He wants you in his manor, but only with your consent.”

“Mother, o Mother, we have already lost Father,  
I cannot stand by and let the Goddess take another.  
Speak of this castle in the east,  
And I will go as your debt, with consent and in peace.” Mercedes promised.

“Mercedes, no! Never;  
He is a beast, from your limbs and head you’ll be severed!”

But Mercedes simply brushed the Baroness’s cheek.   
“Mother, please. Allow me to do this,  
With your blessing, I will have the protection of Aegis.”

Tearfully, the Baroness refused to send her daughter to her doom and fell into a deep slumber. The clerics and monks of the church did not know when she would wake, or if she ever could. But Mercedes, knowing this was much more than an illness, left in the night to the castle in the east. She packed lightly, with only a cloak, her Father’s wedding ring which her Mother had entrusted to her, and the stolen rose. She prepared the horse that her Mother had arrived home on.

The villagers surrounding knew instantly what Mercedes spoke of. They directed her to a thick forest that surrounded the castle in almost complete darkness. As she entered the dense woods, the rose began to glow brightly. Lighting the way, Mercedes followed it to the iron gates of the castle grounds. 

Undeterred and resolute, Mercedes dismounted from her steed and pushed the gates open. Before her feet, a pathway overgrown with moss and mud led to the castle. Mercedes marvelled at the rose bushes that grew amongst the mess, a sign of beauty in this dour castle.

First and foremost, Mercedes returned the steed to the stables. She tacked the horse up, fed and watered him and then turned to the front of the castle. As her mother had done, Mercedes knocked on the great doors thrice loudly, gasping as they flew open.

Although the castle was in complete darkness, Mercedes was able to seek the front hall. In the shadows, she saw the massive figure of a creature. Softly, she spoke:  
“Beast? O Beast?  
Please come out. I am but a priest;  
My name is Mercedes,   
I arrive as payment on this dour eve.”

“Payment?  
How cruel, I am. Mother must lament.” The Beast rumbled.   
“That rose in your hand,  
She told you the story; do you understand?”

Mercedes nodded.  
“I do Beast. But do not misunderstand,  
I come on my free will, not by another’s hand.  
Illness takes my Mother, and I know  
That it is a curse, one that kills slow.”

“So you come willingly?  
What emotion has struck you so blindingly?” The Beast sneered.

“Love.”

“Love?” He echoed. Mercedes nodded.

“Raise the rose to your face,  
I want to ensure your Mother’s mind was not misplaced.”

Softly, Mercedes raised the rose below her chin. Her lovely face was washed with pink and red. The Beast faltered back, almost speechless.

“She spoke the truth.  
Mercedes, you will live with me now under this roof.  
The castle could have every whim, every desire,  
It is yours to explore, and you will never tire.  
But you must never leave the castle lands,  
And never let this rose stray far from your hands.” He ordered.

“I promise,  
Never shall the rose be amiss.” She promised.

The beast then guided her to the same chamber that her mother had slept and eaten in.  
“Come now, Mercedes, eat.  
You must be tired, rest your feet.” The Beast spoke. 

A beautiful meal was laid out before a roaring fireplace. The Beast faltered to the shadows, not allowing her to fully see him. Slowly and politely, Mercedes sat and ate until she was satisfied. To her surprise and delight, sweet cakes and a pot of tea appeared before her for dessert. As she ate, the Beast asked questions about her life and her church and her mother; graciously, Mercedes answered every curiosity of his. When the last of her tea had been drank and she began to feel very tired, the Beast fled from the shadows and to the door. He gazed upon Mercedes and asked:  
“Sweet Mercedes, heart as big as the seas,   
Will you do the honour and marry me?” 

Taken back by this sudden proposal, Mercedes shook her head.   
“No, Beast, I cannot.  
For my heart is not hot.” She spoke cautiously.

With only a soft sigh, the Beast wished Mercedes a goodnight and retreated from her chamber. In front of the fire, she pondered her fate with such a beast, and before she realized, she had fallen asleep. 

In her dream, Mercedes found herself in a courtyard. Instead of being the dead of winter, the land was bright and warm with spring. Flowers bloomed along the bank and fresh, clear water ran down the river. As she wandered, she noticed a man—nay, a prince—poised by the bank. He wore gold and jewels and a large blue cloak. 

He looked upon her with realization, and spoke:  
“Darling Mercedes, why did you refuse my proposal?  
Is my heart so black that it warrants disposal?”

“Fair prince, I know not of what you speak of,  
And my heart does not rely on the fickleness of blind love.” She replied.

The prince then took her hands and pleaded:  
“Do not believe what you see. Trust not with your eyes   
but with your heart which may see past these lies.”

Soon, Mercedes woke, and the prince’s words perplexed her greatly. From her bed, she flew to the window, hoping to see the courtyard. Instead, a blanket of white and blue greeted her. Saddened for a moment, Mercedes remembered that the castle was open to her exploration. She searched for the Beast, but he did not appear in the daylight. 

Eventually, Mercedes found herself in a large sewing room, with dozens of patterns, silks and cottons. She stitched a dozen dresses, only relenting when night fell and the Beast appeared at the door. He faltered from the sight, to which Mercedes only beckoned him further. 

“Come in! I am only sewing,  
There is no need to be going.”

“There are so many dresses,  
Mercedes, are you sending them to a Baroness?” The Beast asked as Mercedes rose. 

She gazed out into the darkness, over the treetops.  
“No no, I hope to find some needy people,  
Perhaps there are some, near that church, the one with the steeple.” She said, pointing into the darkness.  
“Beast, might I ask,   
That these dresses be given to one who lacks?”

Softly, the Beast spoke:  
“Such a kind heart,  
It is an honour to marvel at your art.  
Yes, kind Mercedes, they will be sent,  
To someone who will love them most ardent.”

Content with the Beast’s promise, Mercedes returned to her chamber. She enjoyed another meal with the Beast’s company: again, he asked questions and again she answered, again the Beast asked for Mercedes’ hand and again, she refused him.

The following days began to follow a similar pattern. In the night, Mercedes would be visited by the prince in her dreams and always begged for her to look not with her eyes but with her heart. With the passage of short years, Mercedes began to enjoy the Beast’s company. They spent long days together and spoke often, with love blooming in the castle’s mist. And at last, under the light of a newborn moon, the Beast presented himself before Mercedes. 

His countenance was a mix of animal and man: with sparse hair in the shape of a mane and large blue eyes that rivalled a deer’s. But his monstrous face was scarred with time; sheepishly, Mercedes reached out to touch him.  
“These wounds that you bear,  
They are old, and worsened by despair.” She spoke softly. The Beast faltered from her touch at first. But when Mercedes turned his face to hers, she sung a gentle hymn.  
“Oh gentle Beast, I am not scared,  
I only wish to be the one that cared.”

Taken, the Beast aimed to kiss her. But as he leaned closer, Mercedes turned her head and breathed a sigh. Instead, he gently traced her cheek with his paw.  
“Sweet Mercedes, what pains you,  
What makes you breathe sighs so blue?”

Mercedes tried to force a smile but faltered.   
“Oh Beast, I worry for Mother.  
Everyday I think of her, but every day I feel like I am further.  
If I could only see her once more,  
Then perhaps my heart would not be so sore.”

“Mercedes, are you happy with me?”

“Yes, Beast. As happy as I could ever be.”

Gently, the Beast took Mercedes’s hands.  
“You must return to your home:  
Leave but return before the moon of the Lone.”

“You will let me go?” 

“Only if you promise so.”

Shocked, Mercedes embraced the Beast and thanked him. Gently he took her hand and pressed a kiss to her Father’s ring.   
“When you wish to return,   
Speak my name, then three times turn.”

All Mercedes could say was thank you, and cried it out dozens of times. Before the Beast left, he asked once more for her hand. And once more did Mercedes refuse him, but this time with a heavy heart. Mercedes returned to her chamber and fell asleep. When she woke, she was back in her room at the church. 

She fled from her room to find her Mother praying to the Goddess in the cathedral, now healthy and hale.  
“Daughter! O Mercedes, you reckless child,  
Can you not see you have driven me wild?  
That beast did not hurt you did he?  
If so, I shall call upon the darkest powers that be!”

“No Mother, the Beast is not as he seems:  
He is kind and gentle, almost a man from my dreams!” Mercedes cried out. The two embraced tightly. She spent the moon with the Baroness and clergy. She laughed and danced and spread her love once again and all was as it had been.

But as it had all been, her dreams of the handsome prince stopped; and the rose that had refused to die began to wither. Distracted by her returned duties, Mercedes forgot about her life at the castle, of her good deeds to the village nearby and of the Beast.

On the last night of the Pegasus moon, the prince returned to her dreams. Mercedes found him by the riverside, ailing and sick. The courtyard, once warm and bright with springtime, had frozen with winter. The prince’s cloak had fallen into the river, and the current carried away his jewels and gold. His cheeks were marked with deep cuts that began to scar. Mercedes fell beside him. 

“Prince, oh what has happened to you?  
The air is so cold, your lips have turned blue!” Mercedes cried, hauling off her sweater. She pressed it over his chest.  
“Tell me of your aches and wounds,  
And with my spells, they will be gone soon.”

The prince weakly caught her hand.   
“Sweet Mercedes, you forget too easily. You give too much.  
Your heart is too giving, it has become Faerghus’s crutch. Please remember what approaches,  
Lest my heart become reproached.”

Before Mercedes could ask anymore questions, she realized what the prince meant: she had forgotten the Beast. In the morning, she bade her mother a final farewell before twisting the ring three times with the dying rose in her other hand. 

“Take me back to the east,  
To the land where lives the Beast.”

Upon opening her eyes, she was back in her chamber of the Beast’s manor. The castle was almost completely dark, and the rose’s soft glow barely lit the way. Mercedes hurried down the endless halls, calling for him:  
“Beast? O Beast, I have returned;  
Forgive me for your heart I have spurned!”

Finally, she found him in a dark room. Soft candlelight burned, illuminating his small bed. The Beast curled up against the sheets, his pelt had been thrown on the ground. Mercedes rushed to his side, dropping the rose, it’s petals scattering. 

“Gentle Beast, I am here!  
I promise not to leave again, on all that I hold dear.”

Raising his head weakly, the Beast gazed upon her. Mercedes reached for his hand, clutching it tightly.

“Mercedes... I thought you had forgotten.  
From your absence, my heart began to go rotten.  
I had resigned myself to death upon not seeing you again.   
But now, gazing upon your face, I feel my life be retained.”

“Sweet Beast, never again shall I leave you.   
Please, forgive me, and know that my intentions are true.” Mercedes begged.

In the following moons, Mercedes tended to the Beast with great care. She nursed him back to health and read him her favourite stories of old. When the cold winds of winter came, Mercedes stitched him a new blanket, and even showed the Beast how to wield a needle himself. She showed him to the village where he greeted his subjects and showered them with much-needed food, clothing and supplies. And in the night, the two talked for hours, only stopping when Mercedes fell asleep.

As she watched the Beast from her chair carefully, she whispered:  
“Beast, my heart cannot let this love I hold be:  
Prithee, will you marry me?”

“You truly want to be my wife?  
The one with which I share my life?” The Beast asked, shocked. 

“With all my heart.   
And now, I wish to never part.  
Allow me the honour to love you,  
And I promise to never be untrue.” 

In a great burst of light, the Beast disappeared and in his place stood the prince from her dreams! All along he had been trapped inside the body of beast, cursed to live alone until someone could see the true beauty beneath his monstrous visage. At last, Mercedes recognized him as Faerghus’s lost prince, the young Dimitri. In having admitted her love for him, she had broken the chains around his heart and brought him back to his original form. Before the next moon, they were happily wed and restored peace to the kingdom. They worked hard to bring justice and prosperity back to its people, with Mercedes’s kind heart and Dimitri’s gentle soul. Even after she had passed, Mercedes’s tale of true beauty continued to be told to children throughout the ages, affectionately titled beauty and the beast.


	14. Punishment & The World, Zanado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Infuriated by the loss of her mother and country, Rhea swears for vengeance against humanity. A retelling of Pandora's box by Hesiod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhhh this was a last minute addition into the collection when i was posting. i still don't love it but hey. it worked really well. i really like the idea that byleth was a pandora type character who got yeeted down to the underworld. hence why she allows annette a second chance in getting felix back from the underworld in patience.  
> last note before i dip, i have a second book of fairytales available for download via my wip blog. the post contains information about the update schedule. i hope y'all will come back for the others! (link:https://roraruu.tumblr.com/post/616940438051504128/a-little-book-of-fairytales-is-now-available-for)  
> as always, thanks for reading n everything y'all do ♥️♥️♥️

For hundreds of years, the land of Fódlan and it’s people were happy. In a utopia, the Goddess’s children, the Nabateans, carved Fódlan to be a prosperous nation. Under Sothis’s watchful gaze, the Nabateans and humans went on to create Agartha, a nation where species coexisted. 

However, such happiness waned and humanity began to realize the differences between their kind and the Nabateans: humans lived significantly shorter lives and were burdened by heavy emotion, ache and sorrow. Nabateans however needed little food to eat, rested rarely and lived very long lives. Jealousy bloomed in the hearts of humanity, and thus began the cycle of punishment, beginning at the Red Canyon.

War had been declared on the basis that the Nabateans had subjugated humanity, using them as dolls and playthings to while away the years. By turning their swords on the Goddess’s children, humanity began a long history of pain.

The Goddess’s children, much stronger than humans, began toils beyond compare. They spread sickness and war, pestilence and sorrow, ache and famine. Such acts continued for hundreds of years, with children born into war, their hearts cold. Leading the Goddess’s children was Saint Seiros, merciless and driven to return the world to it’s prior order. Subjugated and forced to live in a world moulded by the hands of Gods, humanity suffered senselessly.

After almost a hundred years of war, ten strong warriors rose from the ashes. They were known as the Elites—Blaiddyd, Fraldarius, Gautier, Lamine, Dominic, Charon, Gloucester, Goneril, Riegan and Daphnel—heroes bonded and agreed to free this land from travesty and pain. The man who led them was the King of Liberation, Nemesis. Along the Tailtean Plains, Nemesis and Seiros fought, only leaving when the Elites had freed humanity with the slaughter of Zanado. Infuriated, Seiros and her remaining Saints murdered Nemesis and fled into the Red Canyon, taking refuge for some time.

At the fall of their king, the Elites spread across the land to ease the pains and woes. With time, humanity was freed of toil, sickness, jealousy and war, but faced the same woes with inadequacy, prejudice, split lands and tense relations. However, during this troubled time, there was little illness and bounty and perhaps most precious of all, they were one nation, Adrestia. 

Seiros, infuriated and scorned after Zanado’s fall, sought punishment for humanity and the Elites. She gathered the remaining Nabateans: Macuil, Indech, Cichol and his daughter, Cethleann. Turning to her mother—the Goddess of all, Sothis—she begged for a way to reclaim humanity under her yoke. Sothis, both a trickster and scornful goddess, listened to the pleas of Seiros and her Saints. To them, she commanded:

“Build a woman to fulfill all of humankind’s pains:  
Sickness, jealousy, hatred and death in vain.  
Gift her with talents of our pantheon   
And send her down into the beyond.”

Using Sothis’s blood and bone, Seiros began to craft a woman. To her brothers and niece, she pleaded for gifts of pain to demand revenge for those who fell in Zanado and to torment the Elites’s bloodlines for years to come. From Nemesis's stolen blood—the vessel who Seiros named Byleth—inherited a power to guard herself against man.

When Seiros had constructed the vessel, she called upon her weakened brothers to bless her.   
“Bestow upon this hellion your gifts:  
Pick those of vengeance, and do not thrift.” She ordered.

Saint Macuil, vengeful for the Elites’ betrayal and hateful of humanity, blessed Byleth with the talent of tactics. He sculpted her mind for the battlefield, to see the tides of battle play out before they occurred. Macuil also gifted Byleth with the penchant for the magical arts and to spread sickness where she went. Those who would pass by her would become rapt with jealousy, the worst ailment to man.

Saint Indech, not talented with communication, blessed Byleth with several penchants. While he was not as scorned as his brother Macuil, he still saw it fit to exercise control, perhaps even one day a duel. He blessed her heavily: he gave her the gift of the sword, the gift of empathy and finally, the gift of war. Whenever she went, conflict would surely follow.

Saint Cichol relented against Seiros. While he wished not to gift the vessel with any ill-will, he could not refuse his sister. In silent retaliation against Seiros, he gave Byleth gifts of sorrow and kindness. For one, he outfitted her in robes that rivalled the night to warn humanity; he also gave her the gift of Authority, bending those around her to her will. And finally, Cichol granted her strength, which he wished for her to use as her own will.

Finally, Saint Cethleann could not understand the sheer amount of her gifts. By her father’s warning, she offered silently the gift of hope, that Byleth would give not into the wills of Seiros, Macuil and Indech, but live by her own wishes. With this, she offered the labours and the last belongings of Sothis: the Sword of the Creator. The sword held all the gifts that the Nabateans had given Byleth.

Indech and Macuil had given too much power to the vessel and perished, returning to the forms of dragons and being cast out into the desert of Sreng and into the lakes of Derdriu. Cichol and Cethleann fled Seiros’s side, making for safety in the Imperial City of Enbarr. There, they warned the only Elite of Adrestia, Lamine, of what would come.

Lamine, however, was a woman of too high faith. She ignored the warning of Cichol and Cethleann, who relented and undertook human identities. For ages, they would hide amongst humanity, with no home and no one but each other.

And under the birth of a new year and new moon, Seiros awoke Byleth and gave her orders. Bathed in the stark moonlight, Byleth gazed upon her creator, listening intently:  
“Create chaos, creature of death,  
Slay and scorn by the name of Byleth.  
Show humankind true sorrows,  
And make them believe in no tomorrow.”

Crashing forth from the heavens above, Byleth was welcomed into the north by House Blaiddyd. She brought the Sword of the Creator down into the earth, shattering the land in four. Immediately, corruption swelled through the land. Down south, the divisions of poor and wealthy widened, threatening for overthrow. In the north, sickness spread like wildfire. Along the east, the empire’s grasp shattered and made for the round table of nobles who sought only for themselves. 

In Lamine’s land, she spread jealousy and hatred. Her lips spilled foul lies and words that made Adrestia sickened. Insurgence split forwards against the newfound noble houses of ministry, Aegir, Berligez, Hevring, Hresvelg, Hevring, Varley and Vestra.

Along the east, Byleth’s arrival struck fear into the heart of Riegan. He fled Fódlan for some time, abandoning his new found round table for the mountains of Almyra.

But Riegan’s abandonment did not only hurt the table. The Almyrans ravaged the mountains, causing problems at the borders and along Fódlan’s Locket and making sure that Goneril had his hands full.

Rain refused to fall for ages, creating famine. Gloucester’s harvests became frail and inconsistent, starving much of their people. In terror, Gloucester squandered his resources, keeping them all to himself. 

Charon faced pressure to adhere to a rising church. With a lack backbone, Charon took the position and was forced to take many of his own men to the sword, traitors to the land. Thunderbrand, his sword, became a symbol of death.

Daphnel fell upon hard times as well. Their land faced not only famine but war. Petty inheritance began to become the reason to war. Their noble house divorced in two: becoming Houses Galatea and Daphnel.

Gautier faced tensed the relations of Sreng and Fódlan after a wedding between the Elite and a noblewoman of Sreng. The invading army thought Gautier had stolen the wife of a nobleman, causing trouble along their borders.

Frightened of responsibility, Dominic fled his noble home. In his wake he left only Crusher and his children. He claimed that his search was for self-actualization, a selfish wish. 

Obsession took over Fraldarius. The moment Fraldarius looked upon Byleth, she vied for her weapon and her talent. She locked herself in her armoury, training and conditioning until she exhausted herself.

Fraldarius’s house faced obsession with weaponry. Byleth’s talent for the sword had driven the Duchess wild, causing her to retreat to her armoury for days long. 

And Blaiddyd’s house itself suffered the worst with the loss of their children. Upon his children, Byleth gave them the same sickness, claiming their lives. He threw her from his home, demanding her head. However, all the other Elites were troubled with their own problems.

Byleth’s arrival only surmounted further sorrows. But as the trials in Fódlan grew and Seiros, now Rhea, rose to found her own church to once again assert control over humanity. She took Byleth from Blaiddyd’s territory, placing her in the safety of neutral ground, her church. 

Cichol and Cethleann—under the guises of brother and sister Seteth and Flayn—prayed for Byleth to release the last gift remaining inside the Sword. And upon crossing the earth and gazing forwards at this new dawn of man, Byleth gazed upon the Crest Stone, the heart of Sothis. In her ears, she heard the Goddess’s voice:  
“Ashen Demon, creature of death;  
Pull me from this hole, and leave nothing left.”

Compelled, Byleth plucked the Crest Stone from the keyhole, where the final gift flew out into Fódlan’s mists. Cethleann’s final gift, one of hope, fell across this dour and doomed land, taking effect. Upon each Elite, a Crest was given; those of healing, of magic prowess, protection or unprecedented power. These Crests marked their bodies and passed down through family lines as the hope to one day unify Fódlan again.

And on Byleth herself, the Crest of Flames appeared. Burning through her robes and scorching her skin, it marked her forever as the Ashen Demon. With the gift, Seiros’s control on the vessel had shattered. And just as it did, the Elites realized the source of their problems and rallied to claim the life of Byleth.

But before they could, Sothis rescued the vessel, pulling her to the Holy Tomb beneath the land. Upon her throne of age-old stone, Sothis gazed upon the vessel and her sword. Byleth was wrought with worry and grief, to which Sothis stepped down from her throne.   
“My daughter has strayed from the path of right,  
And move further and further into the darkest light.  
To protect you, I must cast you far away,  
And please, there you must stay.”

With a touch of her cheek and a hymn of the gods, Sothis removed all of Byleth’s emotions and ordered her to the one place that mortals may never tread out of alive: the Underworld. To her, she promised her a full life and new purpose:  
“Here you will be safest,  
Where in death, kindness can manifest.”

Sothis ordered her to become the judge of all, the keeper of all the souls passed. With a heart of stone and tear-less eyes, Byleth cared for all the souls of this realm, becoming known as their queen. In many tales she is recounted as a calm and collected teacher, one who gives mortals tests of devotion and patience; and in others she is told as a vengeful spirit. However, this tale, the one of her creation, is one rarely told and often lost to the sands of time.


	15. Courage and Heart, Adrestia and Leicester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrestia and Leicester are forever connected in this tale of “Courage and Heart”, where Bernadetta must trust Raphael and learn to grow. A retelling of Ovid's Pyramus and Thisbe.

Once upon a time, there was a talented, but incredibly nervous girl in the lands of Adrestia. Her name was Bernadetta. Bernadetta was the only daughter of Count Varley and bore a minor Crest, making her a person of much value. But Count Varley was a vile man, and wished for Bernadetta to become the perfect wife. For much of her life, she faced abuse and cruelty at his hands. As Bernadetta grew into a young woman, and the time for her debut before the nobility drew, her mother, Countess Varley, paid a squire in training to escort her to Garreg Mach Monastery, where the Count’s forces would have no domain. 

The knight to escort her was named Raphael. He hailed from the Leicester Alliance. Years before, his parents had died, leaving only him and his younger sister, Maya. To make ends meet, Raphael resolved to become a knight of the church. Since he was not from Varley territory, or even Adrestia, Count Varley would not recognize him. The Countess paid him a large sum and pleaded to him:  
“Please young squire, stay close to my daughter.   
Protect her with your life, and make sure she sees not her father.” The Countess pleaded.

Paid handsomely in coin (and fine Adrestian meats), Raphael agreed. In the dead of night, the Countess roused Bernadetta from her slumber and ordered her to dress and flee to the stables. When she slipped out, she yelled at the sight of Raphael—three times her size and covered in armour.

She yelled for her Mother and for the guards. Immediately, Raphael tried to silence her. She fought back, kicking and punching, while hitting nothing but thick muscle. “Come with me, Bernadetta. Your mother sent me to protect you.” Raphael begged, using his shield to fight her thrashing limbs.

“No! Never! I don’t know you! And my Father kill you!”

“No, your Mother sent me!” Raphael exclaimed, and produced a letter signed from the Countess. Bernadetta’s cry alerted the nearby guards; Raphael reached for her. “Come on! We have to go!”

While Bernadetta was unsure if he was telling the truth, she knew the territory well. She rationed that if he lied, she could run back and tell her Mother that she’d been kidnapped. At the sight of the first guard answering her cry, Bernadetta looked to Raphael and followed him along the plains and towards the Oghma mountains. 

As soon as they were far enough from Varley territory, Bernadetta ripped open the letter, still gasping for breath. She leaned the parchment into the growing sunlight.

_ Dearest Bernadetta, _

_ If you are reading this message, it means you have met Raphael. For that I am eternally grateful to the Goddess and her Saints. He is a trustworthy soul who I have selected to protect you. _

_ Child, I am certain you are terrified and perhaps sick to your stomach. I apologize deeply darling, for both that I could not tell you before sending you away and that it came to this decision. Your Father wishes to marry you off to a man approximately three times your age as a profitable match and to raise our House’s standing. In secret, I hired Raphael to see you safely to a haven: Garreg Mach Monastery, in the heart of all Fódlan. The Archbishop is aware of your situation, and has agreed to give you asylum until you become of age to ascend House Varley. However, I fear that I do not know when that will be. _

_ Bernadetta, please understand that this is the hardest thing I have to do. I understand if you hate me, but please, this is for your own safety. I know the Count will be furious if he finds out that this is my doing, but I pray to the Goddess that it never comes to that. Until the blessed day that we meet again my sweet daughter, be well. _

_ I love you most ardently,  
M _ _ other _

Tears sprang to Bernadetta’s eyes. With the back of her hand, she stifled a wailing cry. She swiped at her tears as Raphael peered closer with a furrowed brow.

“Bernadetta? You okay?” He asks.

“My Father was going to marry me off! To a man thrice my age!” She recoiled and shook her head, her tears running dry. “Mother is sending me to Monastery in the middle of Fódlan to hide until I’m strong enough.”

“Strong enough?” Raphael asked, his eyes widening with realization. “I’m training to be a knight. Let me be your trainer, and your protector! Maybe even your friend.”

Bernadetta recoiled again, as if burned. She shook her head even quicker. “No... I can’t... My Father won’t let me be friends with commoners.” She sighed.

“Then I’ll wait by your door, from dusk to dawn!” He insisted. “Your Mother did ensure your safety to me after all.”

Unsure of how to respond, Bernadetta was saved (figuratively, not literally) from approaching soldiers. She recognized the yellow and purple of their uniforms as servants to Count Varley. Bernadetta let out a panicked yell, clambering behind Raphael. 

“Take this!” Raphael called, pulling a bow and quiver from his back and throwing it at her feet. He readied his axe and shield. “And get ready to run!”

Nervously, Bernadetta fumbled to strap the quiver around her hip and tried pulling back the bowstring. She fumbled with the arrow, releasing it too soon. Miraculously, it hit a soldier straight in the shoulder, knocking him back. More soldiers began to show up, swelling in number.

“You’re a perfect shot!” Raphael marvelled. “Let’s go!”

“I-It was b-beginner’s luck!” Bernadetta cried, turning on her heel and running as fast as she could.

After almost a full moon, the two passed over the cold mountains and finally reached the town of Garreg Mach. Countess Varley had mind to entrust Raphael with a thick cloak as extra protection to hide Bernadetta’s face. While she pulled it over her shoulders, Raphael reached for the bow. “We should be safe now Bernadetta, let me.” He said.

But immediately, Bernadetta turned her bow close to herself. “N-No! I want something to protect myself with.” She cried out.

Raphael relented. But then, before they crossed into the monastery, Raphael removed a small shield from his packs. “Here.” He said. “This might help calm ya down. Give you a little protection too.”

Made of wyvern leather and light as pegasus feathers, Bernadetta slid the shield onto her arm. “T-Thank you...” She breathed before the two entered the monastery grounds.

Upon arrival, Bernadetta and Raphael were greeted by the Archbishop herself. Prior to their escape, Countess Varley had sent a plea to hide her daughter with a large donation to the church. Gratefully, she welcomed Bernadetta into the monastery and hid her amongst the monks’ quarters.

Bernadetta, greatly valuing the newfound solitude, holed herself up in her new room for many days and nights. And Raphael, ever vigilant for her safety, remained outside her quarters when he could. Majority of the day he would train, using gauntlets, axes and lifting obscene amounts of rocks to build strength. However, one soft Sunday, he knocked at Bernadetta’s door.

“Eek! Who’s there?” She cried, dropping a tube of paint.

“Bernadetta? It’s me, Raphael! Why don’t you come out and fish with me?” He suggested through the crack in the door.

Bernadetta stayed silent.

“Or we can explore the monastery! Visit the greenhouse!”

Again, Bernadetta did not speak.

“Hey, Bernie, are you there?”

“Yes Raphael.” She shakily replied.

“Will you open the door? Staying inside all the time isn’t good for you.”

Summoning all she courage she could, Bernadetta spoke. “I feel safer in my room, Raphael. I’m sorry.”

“Oh. Huh. Well I guess I’ll stick around here then.” 

Bernadetta almost dropped her paintbrush. “W-What? Do-Don’t stick around for me!”

“Why not? You’re my charge and my friend. I don’t want you to feel lonely.”

“W-We’re friends?” Bernadetta stuttered. 

“Yeah, of course!” Raphael chirped back.

“B-But you’re common and I’m noble. Father will—“ She stopped. They were far from Count Varley and his guard. 

“Hey, Bernadetta, this is your life. You should make choices for yourself.” Raphael said. “And I’ll respect those choices.”

Raphael’s answer caught Bernadetta by surprise. She turned away from her easel and back to the door. Cautiously, she reached out to touch it. “So, what are you thinking?” He asked. She recoiled a little, balling her hands into fists.

“That I want you to stay.” Bernadetta replied firmly. Her eyes widened and she grew flustered, even in the silence of her own room. “I-I mean if you w-want t-to! P-Please don’t let me take y-you away from training!”

“No I wanna stay with you!” Raphael encouraged. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing?”

Bernadetta looked at the painting on her easel—a small study painting of the world outside her back window. It overlooked the monks’ quarters and courtyard, where a little rose bush grew and birds gathered. “I’m painting a landscape.”

“You paint?” Raphael asked, almost aghast.

“I-I do.” She said. “But Father didn’t like it. I used to sew and draw and cook when he was away on business, but...”

“Wow... The only things I can do with my hands is cook and train. You’re amazing Bernadetta.”

Such kind words made the girl flush bright red. The afternoon followed suit and Raphael stayed with Bernadetta. In her stuttering voice, she told him which colours she used, when she changed her brush and what she had painted. When night began to fall and the growls of Raphael’s stomach could be heard through the doors, Bernadetta huddled against the wood. 

“I’ve gotta go now Bernadetta, but I’ll be back tomorrow.” He said quietly. “Make sure to eat.”

“I will Raphael... Th-“ She shuddered.

“What?”

“Th-Thank you!” She cried out. “Having you around was nice!” 

Through the crack in the door, she heard his laugh. “Anything for a friend, Bernie!”

And when Raphael woke the next morning and stopped in front of Bernadetta’s door, he found a wrapped package. When he opened it, he was greeted with the painting she’d spoken of the day before. Touched, he framed it in his own quarters. From that day on, Raphael spent every free moment in front of Bernadetta’s room. Together, they spoke to each other through the crack in the door. She spoke of her paintings, her stitchings and on Raphael’s birthday, even sung him a song. Raphael spoke of all the dishes he’d ate at the monastery, the lessons of knighthood he’d learnt and of his little sister, Maya, back in Leicester.

Under the Ethereal moon, Raphael knocked on her door. Still a little fearful, Bernadetta cautiously looked through the crack. She noticed his blonde hair and nervously called out, “Raphael? What are you doing up?"

“Could you come out? There’s a problem in the kitchen!” He said.

“A problem?”

“Yeah, I need your help. Please Bernadetta?” 

Bernadetta summoned all her courage and opened the door. Huddled behind Raphael, she followed him to the mess hall, nervously wringing a handkerchief to supply her idle hands. “There it is.” Raphael said. 

Bernadetta peered around his back and saw a little light at the table. “A... birthday cake?”

“Tomorrow’s your birthday! Technically right now! Ha!” He said, as the cathedral clock chimed loudly. Bernadetta stared at the single lit candle and the glossed white cake.

“You... did this for me?” She asked.

“Well, you sang me a song on my birthday, so I had to do something! And who doesn’t love cake?”

“I do! Bernie loves cake!” She exclaimed, tears springing to her eyes. She sat down and immediately dug into the cake, savouring each bite and crying all the while. Raphael, kind-hearted, simply watched and escorted her back to her quarters after she finished. 

When Raphael turned to leave, Bernadetta reached out after him, catching his hand. “Thank you for the cake! And birthday wishes!” She cried out nervously, threatening to lose her gift. Raphael smiled and wished her sweet dreams. 

Over half a decade, the two became close friends, entrusting secrets and hopes to each other. Eventually, in the nighttime, Bernadetta would come from her room to spend small bursts of time with Raphael. Together, they would cook in the mess hall making masterpieces, visit the pond to catch fish and sneak into the greenhouse for Bernadetta to sketch. Their bond became so close, so safe that Bernadetta allowed Raphael into her room to sit with her while she wrote. And on the special occasion of Raphael’s knighting, left her room in daylight. However scared of the world she was, her fears melted for the sight of Raphael happily hurrying to her with his armour and title, excited as ever. 

“It’s all because of you, Bernie! I could do this!” He exclaimed, before pulling her into a large hug. And with her face on fire, Bernadetta hugged him back.

However, happiness did not last. Raphael’s younger sister, Maya, sent a worried letter from her guardian’s home asking him to return to Leicester to deal with their estate. Regardless of duty, Bernadetta knew that Raphael would run across Fódlan for her.

“I’m sorry Bernie but...” He spoke, trying to soften the blow.

But Bernadetta would not have any of it. She shook her head furiously. “N-No! Your sister needs you, Raph! Go! I’ll stay safe, I promise.”

With the morning sun, Raphael left the monastery. Around the same time, Bernadetta received a letter from her Mother, telling her that her stay in the Monastery had concluded. But on closer inspection of the letter, she realized that the penmanship was different than her Mother’s, and the parchment did not match the same of the original letter she’d received. The power of her Crest—Indech’s blessing—took effect. Wisdom and revelation fell upon her: Raphael’s sister had been entrusted to their grandfather not a guardian; and her Mother never deemed her date of return. And Bernadetta realized that Raphael had headed blindly into a trap set for her.

Terrified for her friend’s safety, Bernadetta readied herself to leave the Monastery. She crossed through the Oghma mountains with great haste, barely stopping to rest or eat. When she finally reached Varley territory, Bernadetta found her father in the depths of the manor. Her gaze widened when she saw Raphael restrained and hurt.

He noticed her first. “Bernie run!” The knight yelled.

Count Varley’s brow furrowed as he turned around on his daughter. “Bernadetta, finally you’re here. Tardiness is unbecoming of a noble woman.” He said, face twisting into a scowl. “What is that weapon doing in your hand?! Drop it at once, or I shall show no mercy on this common rabble.”

“No! Never!” Bernadetta exclaimed. She steadied her hand on the bow and arrow. “Let Raphael go!”

“You dare know the name of this filth?” The Count yelled. He raised the weapon in his hand and smashed it against a nearby table. Bernadetta shuddered and forced herself to steady her hands again. “To think your Mother sent you away and you were living in a hellhole! With this... this... ruffian!” He cried before reaching for her. His hand locked around her wrist. “Come with me, your hands need not be defiled by hellion. You’ve a match at last!”

With all her strength, Bernadetta wrenched herself from his grasp. Her hands flew to her bow and quiver, drawing an arrow. “Don’t ever touch me again!” She yelled, nocking it. Raphael struggled with his restraints from across the room, watching Bernadetta nervously.

“You dare point a weapon at your Father?”

“You’ve... You’ve hurt me my entire life! And at last I’ve finally felt free from you! I’ll never let you hurt me or my friends again!” She yelled. “Now let Raphael go or I will shoot.”

“You wish to be associated with common filth?”

“He’s not just a commoner! He’s my friend!” She yelled. “I love him! And I want to protect him!”

“Bernadetta you will face dire punishments if you—“

With less than a word, Bernadetta released her bowstring. The Count screamed out loud, reeling backwards into the table. Swiftly, Bernadetta bound him and screamed for help. 

“Bernie!” Raphael exclaimed, wide eyed as she pulled a dagger from the nearby table. She cut his binds and immediately dropped the knife. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, Bernadetta grasping onto him for dear life too.

“Raph, are you okay?” She asked shakily. 

“Bernadetta... You saved me.” Raphael said softly. “How did you know?”

She smiled to herself. “A blessing from the Goddess.” She said. “And you did the same for me not so long ago.” 

“Bernie, you’re incredible.”

“Only because you helped make me that way.” She said softly, against the din of clambering footsteps. House Varley’s troops drew closer to the basement. When asked what happened, Bernadetta summoned all her courage and spoke. “M-My Father a-abducted a Knight of Seiros and h-hurt him. I shot him before he did anymore damage.”

Her eyes widened at the words and she gasped. “Oh Gods, I shot my Father. Oh sweet Seiros.”

Swiftly, Count Varley was placed on trial for the abduction of a knight. For his crimes, the Knights deemed death. With his passing and Bernadetta’s inheritance, she was poised to become the next Countess Varley. But instead, Bernadetta ceded her power and inheritance to her eldest brother, throwing the House into utter chaos.

As she prepared to approach Enbarr, for a position as a library assistant, Raphael stopped her. And when he asked her plans, Bernadetta sheepishly spoke:  
“Never again I’ll return to this land,   
not unless, we are hand in hand.” 

Shocked, Raphael struggled to reply. “Of course! Bernie I’ll follow you to the ends of the Earth. Wide and whole and—and uh... No, I can’t rhyme, sorry Bernie.” Raphael said, bursting into laughter. “But I mean it, I’ll follow you anywhere.”

“Then l-let’s go back to the Monastery.” Bernadetta suggested. “And start a story from there.” 

And so they did. Raphael went down in history as a noble knight. He helped Bernadetta overcome the rest of her fear of the outside world. She followed him across all of Fódlan, with the changing landscapes feeding her imagination and inspiring dozens of stories, some of which are contained in this collection. Her talent for writing was known far and wide across Adrestia, Faerghus and Leicester. And the greatest story—her own—ended with happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this tale is perhaps the strangest out of the bunch for multiple reasons. it's not a direct rewrite but rather takes inspiration from the legend of pyramus and thisbe (which in turn inspired romeo and juliet heyo). the gist is that pyramus and thisbe are neighbours fall in love with each other's voices through the crack in t i knew i wanted bernie and raph to have a support as soon as i got their c support--although in hindsight, speaking through a crack in the wall (or a door) is more of a ferdie/bernie move but idc. as soon as i got their c convo i knew that i wanted them to act as the final bridge tale of the series. i just. really love them and it's a shame that they're a rarepair. c'est la vie.  
> anyways i wanted to take a moment and thank everyone who stopped by and read this dusty little book of fairytales. i cannot stress how much it means to me, every hit, every kudos, every comment and bookmark just makes me so so happy. so what ever you have done--be it reading the entire collection since strength and loyalty or popped in halfway through or caught up at the tail end, thank you from the bottom of my heart. it means the world to me, fairytales are a comfort genre to me and having the support, interest and kindness of the archive is something that words cannot stress. it actually feels like yesterday when i bit the bullet and said "yeah let's post this today", now we're at the end. wowie.  
> special thank yous go out to the hooters crew, taz, leila, teri (for all her raving reviews ❤︎) and the test crowd who agreed to read the collection before it was published. without y'all, the collection would not have been completed or be this vast.   
> while this is the last story in the first collection, there is another that will be published in the coming weeks--it belongs to a little book of fairytales, a continuation of fairytales in fodlan. you can download a full pdf of the new book on my wip blog (as well as the original book should you want to have it, there are sketches and more notes inside) here: https://roraruu.tumblr.com/post/616940438051504128/a-little-book-of-fairytales-is-now-available-for) i will be back the following week with the second set of fairytales, although a few have already been posted.  
> as always, thanks for everything y'all do ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎


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